


The Secret World of Callie Beck

by MerrickGreen



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cults, Exploitation, Gen, Human Trafficking, Meta, Mystery, Referential Humor, Strong Female Protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-03 15:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20268415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerrickGreen/pseuds/MerrickGreen
Summary: Has Veronica Mars met her match?  Callie Beck hadn’t invented human depravity, but she is uncannily skilled at it.Veronica Mars, teenage PI - fresh off catching the Hearst College rapists and breaking it off with the tumultuous Logan Echolls - must use all of her cunning and witty repartee to keep a fellow Hearst freshman from the depths of exploitation.This cross-genre novella is intended for anyone who enjoys a witty modern neo-noir.  Both newcomers to the Veronica Mars universe and devout marshmallows can appreciate this.As this novella occurs towards the end of the Veronica Mars tv series story arc, it is recommended that newcomers first try The Scarlet Liter, which occurs towards the beginning of the overall story, and decide from there whether to read other novellas that spoil plot points for the show.This novella takes place during season 3, between Episodes 3.09 Spit and Eggs and 3.10 Show me the Monkey, in early January 2007.





	1. Today's Outgoing Voicemail

**Author's Note:**

> This book is intended to be enjoyed on a standalone basis. It is also, however, meant to tie in to the overall story. For those newcomers, Veronica Mars was a TV show airing from 2004-2007 on UPN and the CW networks, following the exploits of a teenage PI. It is recommended that newcomers to Veronica Mars instead try The Scarlet Liter, which takes place earlier in the overall story arc of the show, and decide from there whether to read this story, which contains several spoilers for the show.
> 
> The events of this novella take place during Season 3, between Episodes 3.09 Spit and Eggs and 3.10 Show me the Monkey, in early January 2007.
> 
> A brief, clarifying note on the Veronica Mars universe:
> 
> The Veronica Mars universe exists in what is mostly-real present-day America. There are numerous pop culture references, including to Veronica Mars actors, and to shows Veronica Mars actors have been in, such as Paris Hilton, Gilmore Girls, Mean Girls, Freaks and Geeks, etc. Each of these (and the actors in them) are presumed to exist completely independently of the Veronica Mars show, with some few notable exceptions. The most obvious exceptional case is the movie Clash of the Titans, which does exist in some form, but which now stars Aaron Echolls, and not Harry Hamlin.
> 
> Some things belong entirely to the Veronica Mars world, and some mental gymnastics may be required to have them work with real world facts. The existence of Neptune, Balboa County, Kane Software, Woody-Burger, Hearst College, and the Neptune Sharks are such things.
> 
> For purposes of this book, a teen TV show airing on the CW network called Aquaman exists in the Veronica Mars universe. Such show does not exist in the real (non Veronica Mars) world. This should be apparent from the context of the book, but is reiterated here for the sake of clarity.
> 
> The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this work are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
> 
> This book was originally published in the United States under the Kindle Worlds imprint from March 2018 through July 2018, at which time rights reverted to the author. If you paid for the novella at that time and would like a refund because it has been added to AO3, please contact the author at Merrick Green Author (all one word) at gmail.com with a copy of the receipt.

Today’s Outgoing Voicemail  
“Arrange whatever pieces come your way.”   
– Virginia Woolf

“Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”   
– Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.


	2. Chapter 2

Debra Penney was clothes shopping when disaster struck. The Hearst College freshman had come back to Neptune, CA from winter break a little early to settle back in and expand her wardrobe. Terre Haute, Indiana was lovely, and it was mostly great to see family after a whole semester away, but the sartorial selection of the stores back home left something to be desired. Despite popular opinion to the contrary, you can’t wear a Peyton Manning jersey to EVERYTHING.   
But here she was, just starting out 2007, getting new clothes for her first full year of independence, and the unthinkable had occurred - attempting to zip up a size 3 dress, the zipper completely stuck. It was the worst thing that could possibly have happened.  
Debra wasn’t self-conscious of her weight. Not too much anyway. Ok, maybe there was a bit of panic as she was almost a third of the way to adding a freshman 15, and eating holiday meals for a week hadn’t helped her mindset any. But as she fought with the zipper on the side of the slinky blue dress, permanently jammed halfway down, Debra felt like nothing so much as a half exposed sausage, bursting forth from her incomplete casing. It wasn’t just frustrating - it was embarrassing.  
Struggling with the damned unresponsive metal flap, Debra fought and grunted, and grunted and fought, only making her angrier and even more embarrassed. The only saving grace was that she was thankfully in the scant privacy of the changing room, in one of the little stalls that still showed her calves down, and from which everyone could hear every mortifying contortion. Undoubtedly the shopgirl was silently judging her.   
Just when Debra was ready to give up and complete her humiliation, walking out into the store half-naked, the woman in the next stall provided unexpected salvation.  
“The zippers on these things are cheap shit, don’t take it personally,” a clear soprano said from the neighboring changing area. A delicate hand slipped under the bottom of the partition, offered a sturdy-looking pair of needle-nosed pliers with a pink rubberized grip - perfect for grabbing recalcitrant zippers. “Practically use slave labor to sew these things - don’t give the workers time to make sure the teeth line up. Here, use the pliers - it’ll open you right up.”  
Debra grabbed the serendipitous gift, and used it to quickly extricate herself from sheath entrapping her. The college freshman quickly redressed in her pullover shirt and jeans - practical clothes for the temperate Southern California weather, but which would have surely resulted in hypothermia back in wintry Terre Haute.  
“Thanks!” Debra exclaimed after leaving the stall. “You’re a godsend!”  
The stall next door opened, revealing Debra’s savior to be a petite blond woman with a pixie cut and button nose. She looked young, but had one of those faces that could pass for years younger than her actual age. Debra’s rescuer flashed a dazzling bright smile and was cute as a new penny. “Happy to help.”  
“Hey, I know you...” Debra trailed off. “You’re that teen investigator! I’ve seen you on TV!”  
“Always good to have a fan,” the short blond replied with a friendly smile that extended up to her clear sapphire eyes.  
“Well, thank you,” Debra said with heartfelt gratitude. “I’m Debra, by the way. Debra Penney. That was incredibly embarrassing. I’m sure everyone could hear everything! If I’d had to come out into the store I’d have just about died! You’re a real lifesaver!”  
Debra’s heroine looked at her appraisingly, “You get embarrassed easily, don’t you? It was just you, me, and the shopgirl back here, and I’m sure both of us have seen much worse than that. Don’t worry about it, really. Actually... come to think of it, I could probably use your help back, if you’ve got some time today. A friend of mine dropped out of a project last-minute and we’re a man down - if you could sub in you’d be doing me a real favor.”  
“Really? What is it?” Debra asked. “I’ve got nothing but time until classes start. I was hunting for some post-Christmas deals, hoping stretch my clothes budget - but so far I’ve just ended up stretching out the clothes!” Debra laughed pointing at the offending blue dress, hanging in the open changing stall.  
Peals of bright laughter came from the short woman, who laughed along with Debra and gave a good-natured response. “Well, I might be able to help with that too. The project is a film school thing for another friend, Marshall Vesta. You ever heard of him?” Debra shook her head, no. “Well, my friend Patsy was going to act in Marshall’s film project, but just bailed on me. It was a decent paying gig, too - Marshall’s got some money. Not a ton, mind you, but 300 bucks for a couple hours easy work is pretty good. Have you done any acting? You’re certainly pretty enough.”  
Debra flushed with the compliment. “Just stuff in high school,” Debra replied self-consciously. “Nothing real - high school versions of Gypsy and Cabaret. Well, that and I’m on the Hearst cheerleading squad.”  
“Perfect!” she replied. “You’ll be amazing, I know it. You’ve got a great look, and I can already tell you’re funny too. And I’ll be there with you the whole way, to ease you in. 300 bucks will go a long way to having dresses that don’t want to eat you, and I have a feeling you’re a natural - this is how all the great actors get started.”  
Debra didn’t have to think long - the prospect of a few dollars for shopping, and the moral support of her new friend and admirer made this a pretty easy decision. It was just a student film project, after all. What could possibly go wrong?

...

Debra sat in the passenger seat of a shiny new Saturn as the blond woman drove up to the coast. The sun gave off a warm glow, unique to Southern California in January. It felt like a perfect mid-autumn day back in Terre Haute, but with a pristine ocean approaching in the distance. The lure of nice weather and beaches had factored into Debra’s choice of college more than any pedagogical imperative. As the ladies drove up to the rarefied air interspersed with mansions, Debra felt anticipation stir at the idea of getting to check out one of the fancy beachside homes.  
“Did Marshall rent a mansion for the film project?” Debra asked eagerly.  
“Actually, the house used to belong to a friend of his,” the blond woman answered. “She gave it to him as a gift not long ago - I’m here to help him scope out the neighborhood, as it were.”  
“Wow. That must be a really good friend to give up a house like one of these!” Debra exclaimed.  
“Marshall Vesta is quite a guy. He inspires people to be their best selves, and sometimes people show their appreciation with tangible gifts. He has a dedicated following - I’m sure the other Hearst students will hear of him soon enough.”  
As the Saturn pulled up to a closed gate in front of a grand mansion, the driver reached past Debra and popped open the glove box, clicking a remote control to open the gate.  
“Excuse the reach. This is the place.”  
As the gate opened, Debra’s eyes widened, agog at the opulent manor she had unexpectedly found herself. When she woke up this morning to look for clothes on post-Christmas sale, she had no idea she would be invited to this columned giant with a winding driveway, inviting topiary, and oceanside views.  
“Wow...” Debra whispered in a reverent hush. “What kind of film needs a place like this?”  
Debra’s guide was nonplussed. She had been here before, after all, and it seemed to take a bit to ruffle the short woman - certainly more than a fancy house by the beach. “Marshall plans to make something to inspire. Here, let me show you around.”

...

Debra had received the brief tour of the estate, which seemed even bigger on the inside. The expansive house was completely empty except for Debra and her guide - no housekeepers, no cooks, no gardeners. Hearing the two women’s voices echo off of the marble flooring gave an empty, ominous feel to the large building, like they were trespassing at a museum more than visiting a place someone lived. But, Marshall had just gotten the house - no doubt he hadn’t really settled in yet.  
“And here we are at wardrobe for the film!” Debra’s guide announced, leading the way to a capacious closet off of a well-upholstered salon. The room was bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the western exposure, cerulean waves crashing in the distance like stampeding unicorns. The salon itself had a large, stylish seafoam-colored furniture set taking up two sides of the spacious room, looking out the window. A white entertainment center occupied the remaining side away from the window, opposite half the sofa set. Expensive electronics were arrayed around a large television on the ivory-colored wooden unit. The whole room felt breezy and perfectly put together, like Debra was an angel floating on a cloud over the sea.  
Opening the closet, Deborah saw a selection of flowing sleeveless white dresses, stolae, appropriate for saintly figures or Statue of Liberty impersonations.  
“Fit doesn’t matter so much, but pick one that’s about the right height,” Debra’s guide said, grabbing a stola herself from the side where the short ones seemed to be. “And, uhh, bras don’t work so well. You’ll have to leave it here”  
“Any danger I’ll drown in moonlight strangled by my own bra?” Debra asked.  
The blond woman gave off a song of cheerful laughter. “No, it’s just that the straps are really obvious. Your street clothes and the bra should be safe here in the closet,” she explained as she made her way towards the large TV to give Debra some privacy.  
Debra had disrobed and was getting ready to don the stola when she was blinded by a bright flash. Briefly disoriented, Debra looked up, seeing her guide still fully dressed and holding a digital camera.  
“Say cheese!” the camerawoman called with a toothy smile, as the flash blazed again. She then clicked several more times without the blinding light - the flash was apparently unnecessary in the brightly lit salon.  
Debra was stunned and shocked. “What are you doing?!” she demanded.  
The woman looked at the picture on the camera display, arching her eyebrows appreciatively, before locking gazes with Debra. “I’m enjoying the view.”  
Debra was so embarrassed - she wished she could just melt into a puddle on the floor and escape unnoticed like the girl in Secret World of Alex Mack; slink away on the ground, under the door, and escape the vulpine gaze of the short blond woman tormenting her.  
“They say a picture’s worth a thousand words,” the woman continued. “I’ll give you ten to convince me why I shouldn’t send this pretty piece around to everyone I know.”  
Debra’s face contorted in horror and abject misery. “Please.” Debra plead piteously. “Don’t.” The tone in her voice was more like a three-year-old asking a mean uncle to stop hurting her than what you would expect of a grown woman, even a college-aged one. It would break the heart of anyone with the slightest humanity. It seemed to foster some clemency in the surreptitious photographer.  
“Wow,” the blond woman admitted with equanimity. “Did it in two. See - you are a good actress. Fine, I won’t share this, but you have to give me a private show first.”  
“A show?” Debra asked nervously.  
The woman holding the camera with the incriminating photo simply gave Debra a frank look, her penetrating blue-eyed stare conveying exactly what was expected. She briefly broke the intense eye contact, glancing at the nearby upholstered couch to indicate that Debra should get moving.  
Humiliated, Debra dropped the stola and sat on the couch. Unsure what to do, tears streamed down her face as she did what she could, attempting to avoid a more public embarrassment. Suddenly, she heard a loud thunk nearby. Debra looked down on the sofa seat next to her. Through her tears, Debra saw a bright pink rubberized grip and heard a chilling command she would never, ever forget. “Here, use the pliers - it’ll open you right up.”

...

Afterward, Debra sat in the stola, watching the waves crash heedlessly below, filled with regret and remorse, but thankful to be covered and that this whole incident was done with. She had insisted on taking the memory card from the camera herself, to make certain that the predatory pictures would never leave this accursed house.  
“I thought I was supposed to do something inspirational...” Debra said to the woman she no longer considered a friend. “What the hell was that? You have to know I’m not helping this Marshall person with his film project.”  
“Oh, but you already have,” the woman purred. She indicated the shelf full of electronics and the large TV. To Debra’s horror she saw a high resolution video of what had just transpired, taken from a hidden camera. Debra felt lightheaded as the blood rushed from her head and extremities to her core, shock and existential fear consuming her world.  
“If the thought of our little home movie being seen by everyone at school and home doesn’t inspire you to do what I want, I’m not sure what will.”  
“Cl-“ Debra started before she was cut off.  
“That is not my name!” the blond woman exclaimed. “Let’s get this straight right now - my name is Callie Beck.   
“I am an actress – not a TV character. The scrappy investigator you recognize from the Aquaman TV show? The happy little blond snoop you love from the comic teen drama? She doesn’t exist. I work on a TV show – and the reality is very different. I own you - don’t you forget it. The second you disrespect me, the second you don’t do exactly as I wish - I’ll go Reefer Madness dominatrix on your sorry ass. I’ll brand you and claim you publicly, permanently, beyond doubt and with excessive pain. You are a tool in my hand, and usually that means you’ll have someone else’s tool in yours.”  
Frightened and confused, Debra could barely stammer out a halfhearted, “what?”  
“At this point, TV acting is a sideline for me,” Callie Beck explained slowly, as if Debra were a small child. “My focus is on Marshall Vesta’s ministries and success academies. It’s ours, his and mine - and we’re remaking the world. With us on top, of course. This isn’t just a business - he is mine and I am his in every way. I’m here to help him expand his ministries to Neptune with the generous donation of this new compound, and his female followers are expected to provide him with certain comforts.”  
Debra continued to stare at Callie, befuddled at what the short blond woman said. Callie, exasperated, said, “here, perhaps an appropriate song would help.” Callie Beck then began to sing in the hypnotically arrhythmic style of the similarly-named musician, Beck:

He’s gonna get with you,  
your new mister.  
He’ll scream your name, Debra-ah-ah!”

Finishing her impromptu song on a flourish, Callie said, “hey, that was pretty good. Maybe I’m wasted on teen comic book TV.”  
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Callie remarked offhandedly, “we also require that each of our devotees provide us a new piece of collateral each month. Since this is your first month you can get off easy.” At that, Callie calmly took the camera memory card back. Debra felt empty. The whole thing, everything Debra had done to try to limit this, had only made things so, so much worse.  
Finally starting to see the outline of what was going on, Debra was aghast at the sick twist she had fallen under the power of. “Let me get this straight,” Debra asked with disbelief, “you videotaped me doing that ... stuff, and now you’ll make me into a poor Paris Hilton if I don’t fuck your boyfriend? What, you’re not enough for him?”  
Callie’s good humor at her modified Beck song evaporated at Debra’s comment; her cold blue eyes were hard as agates, sending a new trill of terror down Debra’s spine. “So... the cheerleader does have some spirit,” Callie said ominously, as though Debra’s personhood were a problem that could be solved with a thorough scrubbing. “And here I thought you were just a nice set of tits. You be very careful what you say about me and Marshall - I do everything for him, including getting tight little pieces of ass like you. He appreciates me more than you can comprehend, and he exists on a whole level above other people. You will make him happy - or else he will cast you out and your life will be shambles.”  
Dropping her iron-voiced demands to a low growl, Callie warned, “but don’t even think of trying to make him too happy. I will break your body and mind into a state of constant agony, and display the shattered mess of your existence to any other girls that think to supplant me. Are we clear?” the actress menaced in harsh, clipped tones.  
Where before Debra had felt an ice pick of fear, Callie’s frosty ultimatum shattered her backbone, and Debra lost her fleeting ability to speak coherently in Callie’s presence. When Debra had been embarrassed at the photo, she had wished to be a spineless puddle - now destroyed and abused, she felt like she had gotten that wish granted.  
“How?” Debra plead brokenly. “How do I make him the right happy?”  
“That’s your problem, not mine.” Callie said callously.  
Debra sat catatonic, fear and horror warring within her. She saw no way out of this potential humiliation and use. Woodenly staring at the flowing white garment she was draped in, she felt subhuman - a thing owned. Debra Penney had found a new dress, and it was the worst thing that could possibly have happened.


	3. Chapter 3

Veronica Mars mindlessly shuffled papers behind the Mars Investigations front desk. The wan January sunlight filtered through a pane of vermillion stained glass behind her, washing Veronica in pale scarlet, bleeding her from a thousand invisible wounds.  
Veronica was in pain. Not physical pain, but the bad kind. Logan Echolls had broken up with her. Nearly three weeks later, this fact still dominated her existence. Veronica had managed through the first two weeks by keeping ridiculously busy - taking finals for her first semester at Hearst College and catching the Hearst Rapists. Or more like being caught by them. She had found one on her own, Mercer Hayes, but hadn’t expected the Scream twist - that there were actually two culprits. After being drugged by Moe Flater and almost killed, finals had seemed a bit anticlimactic. Regardless, she had learned at least one valuable lesson - always put your phone on vibrate.  
The last week had been rough, though. Veronica had tried to fill it by hanging out with friends - Wallace, Mac, and, before she left for the holidays, Parker. It was amazing how much closer you felt to someone after they saved your life, which is exactly what Parker had done. For her part, Parker had exhibited a greater sense of peace now that her rapist had been caught. Or maybe it had just been the post-finals buzz.  
Veronica had also set about repairing the relationship with her father. There had been a bit of a rift as he became the “other man” between a married couple. Veronica had thought that after seeing so much infidelity, and having been victim to Leanne Mars’ own cheating, her father was one the one bright shining example that love and decency could triumph. She had lost some respect for Keith, that he could be party to something like that. They’d had a long talk since, and Veronica had realized that there were no perfect people. Keith had broken no vow of his, and had done the best he could with the situation - breaking things off with Harmony hadn’t been easy for him. The Mars family didn’t usually do things the easy way.   
The whole conversation with Keith had reminded Veronica of her own romantic travails, and how she had first gotten together with Logan. Kissing him while dating someone else. She’d also done the best she could, but it had ended in tears all the same. The conversation with Keith gave Veronica better perspective, and she felt better about her father, but it had defeated the purpose of avoiding all things Logan.  
Logan hadn’t been around all break. Although his preferred vacation spot was Mexico, he had gone with his second most popular break destination - the Neptune jail. He had smashed up a police cruiser in broad daylight. With a baseball bat. In front of two cops.  
The sheer unlikelihood of the crime had actually worked in his favor - Logan had somehow convinced the judge that he was really trying to kill a deadly bee, and of course there was no malice in the destruction of county property. It was for the greater good. After all, he had pointed out, only an idiot or someone trying to get arrested would commit a crime like that. Logan’s mouth was always getting him in trouble, it was good to see that occasionally he could use it solve some problems too. Logan was now as free as Easy Rider, probably down in Mexico drinking heavily - he was out only some skinned knuckles and the repair cost of the police cruiser.   
The fact was, his real motivation for smashing the car had been precisely to get arrested. He had wanted to be in jail - it was clear as day to Veronica. For once, there was something he could do to help Veronica, and it conveniently also let him vent his frustrations with the cold-hearted bitch causing him angst at the same time. Just because Logan loved Veronica didn’t preclude him hating her a bit right now, too. Logan had tried casting his former buddy Mercer for Blair Underwood’s part in an impromptu live-action remake of Just Cause. One of the finest roles of any LA Law alum - though Corbin Bernsen’s new TV show was cute. Logan must have thought the Just Cause prison flashback thrashing scene was the perfect fit for his onetime friend - the play’s the thing, and it must have been very cathartic for Logan.  
Idly, Veronica wondered if Logan had said some badass line when they caged him in with Mercer and Moe. She could easily picture Logan waiting just inside a cell as Sheriff Lamb clanged the iron-barred door closed, locking Logan in with two violent felons. Lamb, the self-satisfied imbecile in charge of Neptune law enforcement, would just be happy to stick Logan behind bars again. He wouldn’t realize it was exactly what Logan wanted, and even if he did, Lamb certainly wouldn’t care about prisoners in his care getting hurt. Logan would look them over, the moron cop, the weak-willed lackey poisoner, and the reprobate rapist and say, ‘None of you understand. I'm not locked up in here with you. You’re locked up in here with me.’ Or maybe Logan would just let his fists and his feet do the talking.  
Veronica was vaguely aware of Logan’s exploits - she had asked Deputy Sacks to keep her informed of any developments with Moe and Mercer, the “Hearst Rapists” as they had come to be known. It was impossible to hear about Mercer’s hospitalization without also hearing about Logan. And now daydreaming about him. As much as she wanted to avoid her now ex-boyfriend, the news of Logan laying a beatdown had brought a grim smile to Veronica’s face, and an ache in her heart.  
But, as always, the thing that distracted best was work. Even with her scholarship and living at home, Veronica could use the money. More importantly, she could use the diversion. That’s how she found herself back behind the desk at Mars Investigations this early January afternoon. At least now she had an active PI license, so she didn’t have to pretend to only be a secretary. She’d already honeypotted two cheating johns during the holiday season, an impressive feat considering even deadbeats have some token loyalty this time of year. Catching married men trying to have sex with her held a certain dark satisfaction; it reinforced Veronica’s current disdain for the romantic, and the horndog humping of these creeps at least had the limited appeal of boosting Veronica’s self-esteem on her physical attractiveness. You take the silver linings where you can.  
And so Veronica Mars, intrepid teen investigator and heartbroken young woman, was primed and waiting for something to distract her when salvation walked through the front door. A slender dark-haired girl tripped into Mars Investigations, her shoulder-length mane left loose and partially obscured her face. As she approached the front desk, the girl’s hair swayed carelessly, revealing attractive angular features and a ruddy complexion. Veronica could see the residue of tears still streaked down the newcomer’s cheeks, her sharp green eyes lambent with further sorrow. Looking into the new client’s eyes, Veronica was struck by another green-eyed beauty, Lilly Kane. Veronica’s best friend was dead over three years now, but still left a hole in Veronica’s heart. The busty and brassy Lilly probably could have outpaced this weepy willow a dozen times over, but at the end of the day they had at least one thing in common, besides the emerald orisons - someone had done them wrong.  
“Excuse me,” the broken girl asked, “are you Veronica Mars?”  
Veronica practically jumped up behind the desk, quickly coming around to meet the girl in front of the wooden barrier and grabbing some tissues and a notepad off the desk in a single motion.   
“Yes, I’m Veronica. Here, let’s sit and you can tell me how I can help.” Usually it was beneficial to keep the large chestnut desk between herself and the prospective clients, to help instill an air of professionalism. For some reason, people didn’t usually take the slim 19-year-old seriously, and at only 5’1 people had a hard time believing the blond woman could really be a licensed PI. But Veronica was pretty good at reading people, and right now this young woman needed sympathy more than cold professionalism.  
Veronica lead the weepy girl to the empty couch, used for waiting clients, and sat next to her, leaving the pad on the table in front of the couch and handing a tissue to the girl. Sometimes her father used this area for more informal meetings, when the office didn’t convey a needed personal touch.  
“Are you ok? Can I get you anything? A glass of water?” Veronica tried to use an appropriate amount of concern - this person obviously needed help, but there’s only so much solicitude you can take from a stranger without it seeming patronizing.  
“No, I’m ok,” the girl sniffled. “Actually,” she corrected, “I’m pretty fucking far from ok, but I don’t think it’s something that a glass of water is going to fix.” The brunette’s voice was raspy with emotion, but she didn’t seem likely to break down crying imminently.  
“We’ve all been there,” Veronica said sympathetically. “I’m Veronica,” she repeated, “what’s your name.”  
“Debra,” the brunette exhaled. “Debra Penney. I’m a freshman at Hearst, and I made a mistake.” Debra’s voice caught on this, her hands started to tremble and shoulders shake, in what was obviously not the first sobbing she had done today. “A really big mistake. And I don’t know how to fix it. I was hoping you could, I don’t know, do something. You caught those rapists, right? It’s all anyone talked about during finals. And I heard you busted two crooked cops?”  
“Campus security,” Veronica corrected. “Not real cops. But I’ll do what I can to help. What was this mistake?”  
“Do you know Callie Beck? The actress?” Debra asked through her tears, wiping her nose. Debra wasn’t a pretty crier.  
“From the Aquaman TV show?” Veronica asked. “Yeah, I guess.” Veronica was aware of the show, which followed the exploits of a teenaged superhero and his friends. Veronica had been told a few times that she had a resemblance to Callie’s character on the show, a short, blond, nosy reporter with a perpetually sunny attitude. Usually the comparisons weren’t about Veronica’s attitude.  
“She’s evil!” Debra hissed.  
Uncertain what drew Debra’s reaction, Veronica tried to be soothing and get more information with an open-ended question. “Can you tell me what happened?”   
Debra sighed, and then sniffed, wiping her nose with a tissue again. Debra grabbed a fresh tissue to dab her eyes before beginning her story. “It all started this morning. I was looking for a new dress.”

...

Veronica had seen her fair share of atrocities, and been on the receiving end of two or three, but Callie Beck’s actions this morning definitely ranked high on the list of deplorables. Or low, she supposed, depending how you figured. Terrible and memorable, even for the hard-boiled Veronica.  
Debra finished recounting that morning’s tragedy, “...and then she sent me on my way. It’s not like I can go anywhere - if I don’t report in when she calls me, she’ll just send that video everywhere - ruin my whole life. Plus, she gave me an assignment - Callie told me I had to find another girl to recruit. To try and get something on someone, or just send a poor sucker over to her if I couldn’t manage it. She made it pretty clear she had low expectations of my ability to obtain blackmail material.”  
“And so you came here hoping I’d volunteer?” Veronica asked.  
“No!” Debra exclaimed. “Stay away from her! It’s like she could read exactly what would make me do things. I don’t know why I didn’t at least try to take the camera from her. Fight back. I had this powerless feeling, like she knew how everything was going to go from the moment she met me. I was hoping you could, I don’t know, help somehow. Get the tape and photos back. Or maybe get something on her. I didn’t know who else to go to,” Debra concluded uncertainly.  
“I’ll do what I can,” Veronica promised. She thought about the last time someone had asked her to get a sex tape back - Carmen Ruiz back in high school. It hadn’t gone well. “It’s practically impossible to wipe out digital files, but I know someone who might be able to help. Getting something on Callie or this Marshall Vesta guy might be the way we have to go. Mutually assured destruction. Fair warning, there’s no guaranteeing anything works, and this might be really hard on you.”  
“Harder than waiting for Vesta to fly in so he can rape me, and worry that if I’m too good in bed then I’ll get scarred with searing metal?” Debra asked. Taking a deep breath, Debra answered with more steel in her voice than Veronica had heard that afternoon. “I’ll do what I have to, to get away from them.”  
Veronica recognized that tone. It was the same resolute determination she had found after leaving Sheriff Lamb’s office, over two years ago, dress still torn from her own violation the night before. Veronica had vowed then to catch the person who had done it. Make it so they could never do that again, cause such hurt. To make them pay. Veronica knew exactly how Debra felt - broken but reforging herself. And still brittle, apt to shatter if pushed too far. Debra was in for the fight of her life, and Veronica couldn’t imagine doing anything other than dive headfirst into this painful, embarrassing, potentially doomed-for-failure mess with the girl just now finding her mettle.  
On the bright side, Veronica now had plenty to occupy her mind away from Logan Echolls. You take the silver linings where you can.


	4. Chapter 4

Veronica and Debra walked into the Hearst campus commons together, Veronica scanning the tile-floored room bathed in the neon red lighting of the commissary signs. Searching the nearly-empty atrium for the two friends she was expecting to meet, Veronica found them in a secluded area of the deserted commons; Wallace Fennel and Cindy “Mac” Mackenzie were two of the few people on campus during break. Classes hadn’t started yet but Wallace was on campus for intensive basketball bootcamp. Mac, a Neptune native, loved her family, but got along with them better when she didn’t share their living space - she had gotten special dispensation to stay in her dorm since she was needed for campus tech support. They were seated at a 4-person table off of the small campus arcade, an ancient copy of Gyruss standing in the shadowed corner, two warps away. The vintage arcade game glowed and flashed in the crook of the barren atrium, highlighting Veronica’s two friends. Wallace’s dark-skinned complexion didn’t obscure how well-toned his bare arms were in his workout clothes, while the video game lights gave Mac’s pale oval face and dark hair occasional flashes of unnatural incandescence.  
“Debra,” Veronica once they reached the table, “these are the two friends I told you about. Mac is master of the mystic computer arts – if anyone can expunge our video from the earth, it’s her. Wallace here is a man of many talents, our conscience and moral support, in addition to being our star point guard just off of a one-semester sabbatical to study mechanical engineering.” The truth was, Veronica didn’t expect Wallace to contribute much to the investigation, but right now Debra needed friends and support. Veronica could think of no one better than Wallace Fennel.   
“You guys might have run into each other at a basketball game,” Veronica continued. “Debra, meet Wallace. Jiminy, this is Debra, she’s a cheerleader from Terre Haute, pretty close to your old stomping grounds in Cleveland and Shy-town.”   
Wallace smiled jovially, “Veronica, please, never call Chicago ‘shy-town’ again.” Holding out his hand to Debra in welcome, “pleased to meet you.”  
Debra took Wallace’s hand, shaking it in greeting. Looking him in the eye she asked seriously, “Bulls?”  
“Cavs. Pacers?” Wallace shot back.  
“Hmm. Colts.” Debra concisely answered.  
“Harrison?” Wallace asked.  
“YES!” Debra exclaimed.   
Veronica and Mac watched Wallace and Debra’s rapid-fire volley, flipping back and forth like it was a tennis match. “You catch any of that?” Veronica asked Mac.  
“Uhhh… not really,” answered Mac. “When this happens at home I just say ‘Dale Earnhardt rules!’, and it seems to work. But I don’t think that’s a one-size-fits-all answer.”  
Wallace smiled broadly at the three ladies, “Sorry, just getting to know each other. Debra and I should get along just fine. We can discuss the finer points of no-huddle offense and just how insanely great your receivers have to be when you have no defense.”  
“Who needs defense anyway?” Debra chimed in, smiling and looking for the first time like the normal college freshman she must have been last week.  
“Spoken like someone who’s never been to a Cleveland Browns game,” Wallace teased back. “Anyway, we’ll be fine while you two are off saving the world.”  
“Hey,” Veronica rejoined solemnly, “save the cheerleader, save the world. Speaking of, we should figure out our plan. Debra, you mind if I read these guys in to the case?”  
“I’ll take whatever help I can get. There’s a very real chance that everyone in the world will see all the high-def details soon - sharing my problems with a couple people who want to help? If you vouch for them, I trust them. Even the LeBron fan,” Debra smiled. It was a surprisingly flexible reaction from someone who had been so embarrassed from that morning’s events. Trauma had a way of changing people.  
“Ok,” Veronica began. “You guys know the Aquaman TV show?”  
Wallace looked confused, “I thought Aquaman was a movie, not a TV show.”  
“That’s just a plotline in Entourage,” Veronica explained. “Aquaman movie - doesn’t exist. Aquaman TV show - real. Got it?”  
Recognition dawned on Wallace’s face. “Oh, that show? Is that still on? It started forever ago.”  
“What do you mean ‘is that still on?’” Veronica asked incredulously. “It’s hugely popular. Flagship of the new CW network. They’ve got some good stuff there - Gilmore Girls is great, and that thing after it is pretty stellar.   
“Anyway, one of the actors on Aquaman, Callie Beck, is the bottom bitch to this motivational speaker cultist dude. Marshall Vesta. He’s a regular Ervil Lebaron.”  
“Wait - there’s an evil LeBaron?” Wallace asked puzzled. “Like, the nemesis to your old car?”  
“Ervil, not evil,” Veronica corrected. “One of those regional urban legends that didn’t make it all the way to Cleveland, I guess. Ervil was a crazy polygamist who ran a murder cult in San Diego twenty-some years ago. Looks like this Marshall Vesta guy is more into the sex cult and less into the murder. Or, at least he hasn’t been caught yet.  
“The legitimate face of the organization is call XKSXS, short for Exec Success. XKSXS has a bunch of celebrity clients that he’s helped ‘actualize’, and a giant compound in upstate New York that’s unassailable. If Ervil LeBaron doesn’t ring a bell, think of Vesta as Tony Robbins, but even creepier, and with a harem of women he blackmails and intimidates into giving him money and sex. Rumor is that he bilked over a hundred mil out of some New York heiress. And, bad news for us, he just got handed one of the cliffside mansions, and is looking to start a cell right here in Neptune.”  
“Ohhh-kaaay...” Mac said. “I think we get the big picture. What’s the plan, just tell everyone on campus to stay away from the creepy new cult and go back to checking our drinks for roofies all the time?”  
“Good ideas, but unfortunately, that’s not enough,” Veronica explained. “Debra here learned about Callie and Vesta the hard way - Callie extorted a video of Debra that we’d prefer not get published. I was hoping you’d be able to hack in to Callie’s computer and delete the video. Failing that, maybe we can get something on XKSXS that can make them back off. Mac, any chance we could kill the video?”  
Mac thought for a second before responding. “Welllllllll,” Mac drawled out uncertainly as she continued to think it through, “maybe I can. You remember how Norris Clayton got set up by ATF back during junior year of high school? How his neighbor hijacked his WiFi and was able to pass off e-mails as Norris’? If I can get access to Callie’s WiFi, I might be able to do one better, and access the computers that are linked to it. But, for a big mansion up cliffside, that means actually getting on the property. Plus that’s only going to get the stuff that the computer has interacted with - the original video might be stored on a memory card somewhere.”  
“Alright,” Veronica said, heartened. She had worried that there might be nothing Mac could do. “I’ll work on swiping the camera second. What’s needed to get access to the WiFi?”  
“If I’m in WiFi range of the building, and have the admin password on the router, I can set up remote access and then monitor everything on the network from home. The password is almost always the router’s serial number - that’s factory default and almost nobody except hackers ever change it. Otherwise you might forget it, and it’s next to impossible to just guess the serial number password without looking at the physical device.”  
“So... sneak you onto the grounds with your laptop and then I sneak in and look for the router?” Veronica asked. “That can work. Debra - you said the place was empty when you were there? You remember which house it was, right?”  
“I don’t think I’m likely to forget much from this morning,” Debra said ruefully. “Yeah, I remember which house it was. But what about the original?”  
“You said Callie wanted you to send a new recruit her way, right?” Veronica asked rhetorically. “Have you ever heard of white mutiny?”  
“Uh, no - but I’m getting pretty up-close-and-personal with white slavery,” Debra responded wryly.  
“White mutiny is malicious obedience. It’s when you do exactly as you’re told, and the opposite of what your boss wants,” Veronica explained.  
“Like the old school djinni?” Wallace asked.  
Everyone turned to look at Wallace, surprised by the unexpected reference. “Actually....” Veronica drew out, “yes. It’s exactly like that.   
“Callie asked you to send a new patsy, and that’s precisely what we’ll do. You send her someone, just like she wants. Me. And I’ll take the camera before she even knows what hit her.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting outside the walled compound of a cliffside mansion, Veronica reflected that nothing gave her a sense of cacoethes like the thought of some asshole taking advantage of a woman. Debra’s situation instilled an irresistible urge to do something inadvisable - like break into a secure and almost-certainly alarmed estate to hack into a sextortionist’s computer.  
“Alright, we all clear on the plan?” Veronica asked her soon-to-be accomplices in a little B&E.  
“I’m wheels - stay here with the car, hazard lights on,” Debra replied. “If anyone asks, I say I already called Triple-A. If it’s a cop, I tell them I saw a bunch of Latino guys wearing black leather, riding motorcycles and tailing a Benz that just passed. I have to ask – do the cops really racially profile that much here?”  
“You haven’t met these cops,” Veronica confirmed. “And if anything comes up, call Wallace. I’ll have my phone on vibrate, and can be reached in a pinch, but am apt to be busy.” Turning to Wallace, “Mr. Fennel?”  
“I’m ops and muscle,” Wallace reported. “Ain’t no wall high enough, ain’t no valley low. Scale the wall, help you, Mac and the computer up-and-over, then stick with Mac the Hack while she does her thing, and keep my eyes open for trouble. I know, I know, phone is on vibrate. You don’t have to keep telling me. And that makes you...” Wallace looked at Veronica and screwed up his face in concentration, “... the grease man?”  
“Please, Wallace. We live in an enlightened age past such vulgarity. I’m the grease woman.”  
“Hey,” Mac interjected, “can I go on record as disapproving the nickname ‘Mac the Hack?’”  
“What?” Wallace asked. “Your name is Mac. You’re the hacker. Mac the Hack.”  
“Hack-ER,” the sardonic programmer clarified. “Hack makes it sound like I either drive horse drawn buggies or write bad jokes for a living.”  
“Fine,” Wallace conceded. “I stick with Mac the Knife here while Veronica finds a way in without setting off the alarm. Anything else?” Wallace asked.  
“Yeah,” Veronica added laconically, “don’t get caught.” Veronica looked between her friends, who were willing to put their own futures at risk to help her. For the millionth time, she was thankful for Mac and Wallace as they exited the car and walked towards the imposing stone wall.  
The crew made their way down the wall a bit, to where a large tree branch jutted out over the wall. Waiting until they didn’t hear any oncoming cars, the four teens steeled their nerves to break into XKSXS’s compound. Debra, the tallest of the ladies and the most used to hoisting people into the air, cupped her hands for Wallace to step into, giving him a step up towards the smooth-faced stone barrier. Aided by the cheerleader’s assist, Wallace managed an impressive vertical leap, placing his palms on top of the flat wall and quickly pulling himself up the rest of the way. If Veronica had been called to do a security consult here, despite the wall’s significant height, she would have bemoaned the unobstructed flat top - just as well that the previous owners hadn’t been particularly safety-conscious.  
Debra cast a loop of coiled rope up to Wallace who, sitting atop the wall, quickly tied the rope around the sturdy branch nearby, letting it dangle down the far side of the wall. Debra then helped lift Veronica and her messenger bag up the wall, where Wallace helped her over to climb down the rope. Mac and her well-secured laptop went last.  
Once on the other side of the wall, Veronica quickly looked around. The stone walls obstructed the neighbors on either side, effectively cutting off all public view to what was going on. The house was high enough above the beach that nobody out on the water was a real concern - Veronica would just have to avoid being visible through the gate. The rich ‘09ers - the nickname for residents of the tony 90909 zip code - appreciated their privacy. Normally it was meant to keep the riffraff out, but right now it was working in Veronica’s favor.  
There were no cars in front of the house. The group hadn’t spied any through the gate, but seeing an empty driveway after being afforded the wider view was somewhat comforting. Somewhat comforting, but not completely - the on-premises garage was opaque, and it would be too risky to go check it out. Although there hadn’t been anyone here that morning, the hedges were still pristine, so some kind of groundskeeper must come occasionally. Veronica would have to keep an eye out, and make sure not to stumble on any domestics or other XKSXS members. That was a major reason they had decided to strike now - the longer they waited, the more likely that Callie or another SXS devotee would return. The window in which a nice mansion remained empty was vanishingly small.  
Creeping ahead through the hedges, Veronica kept the house in front of her, to block the late-afternoon sun behind the building and out of her eyes. Walking up to the columned edifice, she examined the sturdy wooden front door with some cynicism. The stout doors were likely locked, and certainly alarmed - Veronica didn’t even bother trying them. Looking up at the windows, they all seemed closed securely - Southern California was warm in January, but not so warm that you wanted to crack the windows open, especially if you were leaving the house unattended. Airborne dust and dirt from the Santa Ana winds would keep the windows shut if the temperature didn’t.  
Continuing her trespass around the house, Veronica saw a couple more entrances, one which appeared to go into a kitchen, the other a rear glass door that went near the salon Debra had described. The glass door by the salon had alarm wires visibly hooked to the entrance, as well as the nearby windows. Well - that definitively answered the alarm question, at least.  
Finishing her circumference around the back of the building, Veronica found the opening she had been looking for - a small window by the ground that, despite the immaculate cleanliness of the others, had dust permanently within the glass. The window was tiny, not even coming up to Veronica’s knees. Short stature was helpful in effectively sneaking into places, but Veronica wasn’t sure that even her 5’1 body could squeeze through that small window.  
First of things first, though, she needed to get the locked window open - without breaking it. If Callie knew that they had been here, it would negate the whole operation.   
Veronica grabbed the slim jim from her messenger bag - she occasionally used the slender metal rod to get into locked cars. Always with the owner’s permission, of course. She was able to slide the metal along the top of the window and wiggle the end down towards the lock. The slim jim wasn’t really meant for this type of work, and was longer than Veronica needed, but after some awkward waggling with the extra-long handle, Veronica was able to catch the latch. Working slowly, Veronica methodically pushed the lock. Wrist aching as she continued to push, Veronica was finally rewarded with the grating sound of the dusty lock moving all the way clear.  
Gently nudging the bottom of the window with her foot, the window rotated on its central stays, with the top of the glass tilting towards Veronica, revealing a large clothes dryer. The window was necessary for venting the dryer, but due to the regular opening and closing of the window, the heat, and the constant vibration of the machine, it would be impractical to install alarms on this particular entrance. Besides, who could reasonably fit in such a tiny space?  
Veronica looked through her messenger bag to see if there was anything that would be helpful in squeezing through this tight spot, before figuring that she was just going to have to suck it up and do it. Literally. She would have suck her stomach in, or a sizable piece of it might get scraped off on the window frame. The choice between going head-first or feet-first was a no-brainer - going feet first would let her grip the windowsill and help shove her way in, and landing on her head didn’t appeal to Veronica at the moment, anyway.  
Dropping the messenger bag through the open basement casement, Veronica was now committed to going in. Stepping one foot into the opening, Veronica crouched and splayed her arms wide catch the edges of the window frame, holding herself up. Gently sitting on the tilted window, Veronica realized she would have to just let go and hope for the best - putting her weight on the window for any length of time risked breaking it. Lifting her arms over her head, Veronica made a flying straight forward dive into the XKSXS laundry room. The drop was farther than expected, as Veronica landed next to the dryer and atop her messenger bag, nearly rolling an ankle on the flashlight inside. Veronica checked her now-dirty t-shirt and saw some new holes tearing through - fortunately she’d managed to slide through losing only cloth, and not skin.  
Picking herself up, dusting off the knees of her jeans and grabbing her bag, Veronica scanned the room, which showed signs of recent use. So - a housekeeper must come sometimes, too. Veronica would just have to hope there wasn’t one already in the house - she hadn’t seen any signs of inhabitants through the first floor windows, but it was a big house.  
Veronica experimentally tried moving the dryer over a little bit - it was heavy, but not secured to anything. Veronica did what she did best - she pushed things a bit, and then pushed a bit more. After some shoving, she was able to move the machine directly under the window, setting up what was hopefully a viable escape.  
Veronica reached into her bag for the flashlight, turning it on and aiming in towards the ground to provide general illumination with the minimum glare possible. Although some homes could now monitor when lights were turned on, Veronica was more concerned about tipping off somebody else in the house if she lit up the whole house. The back half of the house should still be pretty well lit by the lowering sun anyway, and the salon was Veronica’s first stop - she could trace the TV cable back to the cable box and, hopefully nearby, find the WiFi router.  
Quietly and efficiently, Veronica trod out of the laundry room and upstairs to the first floor. Debra had been right, the silence of the house was slightly unnerving, and Veronica’s muffled footsteps echoed in her ears. Veronica knew it mostly had to be in her head - sneakers on marble didn’t ring out so much as they quietly squeaked. The intrepid investigator made her way towards the windowed back salon as quietly as she could, but was more focused on speed than stealth. Callie could be back any minute.  
Coming to the salon Debra had described so vividly, Veronica was struck by the irony of such ugly things happening in a place of such beauty. The orange sun flashed off the waves below, casting the bleeding edge of sea foam an atomic tangerine, the ghosts of mermaids dancing in the persimmon light.  
Checking the TV on the white entertainment unit, Veronica saw a white coaxial cable snaking out - she followed it under a rug and to the wall, where it lead back towards the front of the house.   
As Veronica approached the central foyer, a white noise hum impinged on her consciousness. The closer Veronica got to the front door, the more pronounced the noise became until, upon entering the grand two-story entryway, Veronica identified the sound with a flutter of fear. Someone upstairs was taking a shower. Someone was IN the house.  
Veronica followed the cable as quickly and silently as she could, feeling renewed urgency to get the serial number and get out before she was spotted by whoever was upstairs. The cable traced the wall to a closed door off the foyer. Veronica ran up and tried the lever handle - the knob turned easily and uselessly, clicking at the end of its arc but doing nothing. The door didn’t budge. Locked. Of course. All the most interesting things in the world are behind locked doors.  
The faceplate above the lever handle had inset pushbutton digits, just like an alarm keypad. It had been too much to hope that the lock was just for show, or had been left unlocked. It was probably meant to keep snoopy cleaning ladies out of important files, but it had stalled Veronica at the worst possible time. Still hearing the sound of the shower upstairs, Veronica looked at the handle - this was no push button or slit lock that could just be undone with a paper clip or butter knife. The credit card trick was usually a good standby, but nearly futile against an electronic lock. The lock would disengage the outer handle from interacting with the latch entirely, and Veronica had no time to waste. Fortunately, the detective had come prepared for this. Reaching into her bag, Veronica pulled out a lock-picking kit, popping open the black hard-plastic case and pulling out two things, one that looked like a long allen wrench and the other like small glue gun with a thin metal rod sticking out the front.  
Taking the torsion wrench and inserting it into the keyhole of the handle, Veronica then slid the needle of the snap gun into the hole next to it. Repeatedly pulling the trigger of the snap gun, the needle pushed hard on the bottom pins within the lock, briefly separating them from the top driver pins. Veronica turned the torsion wrench, and then did another round of rapid-fire shots with the snap gun. With one last practiced pull on the wrench, Veronica was able to pop the lock and open the door with a loud clack – the whole exercise done in under two minutes.   
“Hello?” A female voice called through the house. “Callie, is that you?”  
With no time to feel satisfied with the skillful unlatching, Veronica tossed the loose tools back into her bag and tumbled into a carpeted room. Grabbing hold of the inside knob, Veronica temporarily twisted it to stop the latch from making another click as she closed the door. And not a moment too soon.  
“Hello?” the voice called again, now from the upstairs portion of the two-story foyer. “Callie? Are you home?”  
Veronica silently stood by the door of the new room, a richly appointed office that was thankfully carpeted with a thick dark green nap. The room was dominated by a large darkly gleaming woodstained desk that was far more upscale than the beat-up utilitarian things that Mars Investigations used. The coaxial cable was nearly invisible, slithering along the wall and through the carpet to a coat closet adjacent to the desk.  
“I could have sworn I heard something…” the voice said from just outside the office. The door then rattled as the woman futilely tried the knob from the outside and pushed on the door – fortunately the electronic lock still disengaged the handle from that side. The door would only open from the inside.  
“Humph,” the woman grunted in puzzlement. “Well. That’s not creepy,” the woman said, clearly talking to herself. A few moments later, Veronica heard the muted thumps of bare feet slowly climbing stairs in the foyer.  
Veronica slowly and carefully parted the door slightly to see who was in the SXS house with her. A tall, slender female figure wrapped in a white towel was walking up the foyer stairs to the second floor, her back to Veronica and the office. The woman’s shoulder-length hair was still wet from the shower, darker than usual but unmistakably red, and a tattoo was visible on her left shoulder, reading the words ‘Pretty Woman’ in elegant cursive. Veronica figured she only had until Miss Red got dressed and came back downstairs to make good her heist.  
Running to the coat closet and pulling on the ornate handle, Veronica practically let out a gasp of relief – the door was unlocked and inside were two boxes with blinking lights, a cable box and a Wi-Fi router. Looking at the smaller of the two, Veronica typed the serial number into her phone and sent a text to Mac and Wallace. The blond woman had barely closed the closet door before she got an answering text from Wallace, “gtg.” ‘Good to go’, or ‘got to go’ – either way that was Veronica’s cue to exit.  
Veronica wasted no time grabbing her bag, closing the office door, and pelting back towards the rear of the house. Halfway down the lengthy hallway, Veronica heard steps coming from the foyer stairs again – this time with the distinctive thap-thap of sandals.  
Barely making it beyond the now-dressed SXSer, Veronica dove for the entrance back to the basement, closing the door quietly behind her. Heart pounding from her near miss, and grateful to now be obscured by the wooden partition, Veronica thought the cellar door was the most beautiful thing.   
Running as silently as possible, Veronica went back to the laundry room and practically flew up the dryer and back out the window on wings of adrenaline. Taking the time to nudge the window back closed gave her an excuse to catch her breath, but Veronica was still sucking air and windblown dust as she ducked around the side vegetation to stay out of sight of the front windows.  
Veronica ran up to the wall, finding Wallace waiting under the rope, Mac already halfway over the top of the stone barrier. Finishing her climb, Mac sat on top of the wall facing out – she took an experimental miniature butt-scoot forward before loudly declaring, “nope!” She froze in dread of the formidable plunge before her. In fairness, her fear may have been well-founded – lots of people die from falls, and they don’t even start from giant walls.  
Wallace saw Veronica coming on fast and, in hushed tones, called up to Mac. “It’s ok! Stay up there! We’ll swing the rope over after I’m up, and you can climb down!” His reassurance seemed to placate some of Mac’s imminent panic.  
Veronica stepped into Wallace’s cupped hands and began climbing the rope with much assistance from Wallace, mostly in the form of stepping on various parts of his upper body. After putting her full weight on one of Wallace’s shoulders, Veronica was glad to be small for the second time that afternoon. In short order Veronica joined Mac sitting atop the wall.  
“So, you get access to the WiFi?” Veronica asked between gasps.  
Mac stopped staring down at the ground far below for a moment to look at Veronica. “Yeah, I got it.”  
Wallace finished his own climb up the rope, which he immediately swung to the exterior side of the wall. Mac still seemed nervous, but having something to hold on to, and now facing the wall instead of the road, she began to make her way down. Her death grip on the cord was methodically clenched and released as Mac proceeded hand-over-hand down the rope.  
“Well that went about as well as could be expected,” Veronica quipped to Wallace atop the wall. “Ran into Julia Roberts during the heist. Sorry I didn’t have time to seduce her mid-caper - maybe we can save that for the sequel.” Wallace broke into one of his trademark smiles – he had always been an appreciative audience of Veronica’s idiosyncratic humor, and, as he proved again today, a reliable friend.  
Once Mac met with Debra waiting on the ground, Veronica quickly rappelled down the wall after her, to join the two ladies. Upon landing, Mac asked Veronica a question.  
“Hey Veronica? Do you remember what I said last year when Clemmons took my cell phone interceptor?”  
“Ummm… I think it was ‘respect the business model’ – you do the gadgets, I do the actual espionage,” Veronica replied.  
“Yeah,” Mac said with a bit of exasperation. “How about we go back to that? Mac the Knife is going to stay ‘out of sight’ - no more jumping off tall buildings for me.”  
“Speaking of, it looks like Wallace finished untying the rope,” Debra indicated. Wallace tossed the cord down to the other interlopers below. The basketball star then dangled from the top of the wall from his fingertips, looking like he had just completed an extra-high slam dunk before dropping to earth. Wallace bent his knees while landing, and then sprawled, inelegantly but safely, on his butt.  
Wallace reached out for a helping hand – he looked a little surprised and not displeased that the first person to clasp his arm and pull him from the ground was Debra Penney, a smile on her face.


	6. Chapter 6

Veronica walked along the pocket park across the street from Kane Software headquarters. It was another lovely day in Southern California, the January air was slightly chill, but brisk and refreshing, providing counterpoint to the perfectly clear cerulean mid-morning sky overhead.  
Debra had told Callie that her newest mark wanted to meet in a public place, and Callie had picked the specific location. Technically, it met all of Veronica’s criteria - wide open, easy access and egress, passerby to witness any overt problems but likely to keep their distance and ensure a private conversation. But meeting with Callie in the literal shadow of Kane Software couldn’t help but give Veronica an uneasy feeling. She had too much history with the Kane family, and everything that had come from the glass behemoth looming overhead had rained down havoc and pain upon the teenager. The mirrored monstrosity was more than just a building - it was an enormous reminder that Jake Kane had ruined her life, and that he could keep sitting in his airy palace untouched. Veronica wasn’t superstitious in the least, but meeting Debra’s tormentor here was deeply ominous.  
As Veronica approached the short blond figure, she could easily see why people commented on her resemblance. They were of a height, and both slender, though Callie had some more going on in the bust. The actress’ nose was slimmer and straighter than Veronica’s, her cheeks slightly higher and more rounded. When Callie looked up from the book she was reading, she smiled brightly and widely in genuine pleasure, her smile even bigger than what Veronica could manage when going for maximum pep. The differences were there, but by all appearances the two women could have been close cousins meeting in the park for a family lunch.  
“Hi there,” the actress greeted with her friendly smile. “I’m Callie, nice to meet you. My friend Debra said you might be having some personal problems, she thought maybe I could help.”  
“Debra’s a friend of yours?” Veronica asked. She managed to keep the skepticism from her voice.  
“Well, I’d say I know her fairly well. We’ve been pretty intimate,” Callie remarked with a completely straight face.  
Veronica looked Callie over, trying to get a better read. Callie’s nonchalant and friendly facade were impressive, even for a professional actress - it seemed like the reaction might be genuine. Glancing at the cover of the book Callie held, Veronica immediately flushed a bit and had to hold back an even more discomfited reaction. Callie was holding a spavined and well-worn copy of Margaret Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale.  
Catching her breath, Veronica had a flash of insight and slowly inhaled and exhaled before responding calmly, her blazing fury carefully restrained. “You knew I was coming. You picked this meeting place to remind me of the Kanes. You’ve read that book before, but you brought it out intentionally to goad me into a reaction. You wanted to piss me off on purpose. Why?” Veronica was still pissed off, but she refused to let Callie hit her buttons, and her curiosity outweighed her anger.  
“Mostly right,” Callie admitted. “I strongly suspected it might be you that Debra sent - you’ve made quite a name for yourself in this little corner of the country. But the book wasn’t just to provoke a reaction. It was to see if you recognized I had done it on purpose. Whether you’re as observant as rumor suggests, or if you’re as wrathful as rumor intimates. If you just flew off the handle and assumed the worst, without realizing I was testing - then you wouldn’t have been as strong as I thought. I wanted to know if you could think and control your temper. Analyze the problem, and not just strike out counterproductively. I have to say, Veronica Mars, you don’t disappoint.” It was not lost on Veronica that Callie used her full name despite the lack of introduction. She knew Veronica wouldn’t just trust a story, and was laying out facts to back them up.  
Callie remarked, “I’m glad she sent you. It’s rare to meet someone with true strength.” Veronica was not drawn off-topic by the compliment, but Callie’s gambit had succeeded in one thing – the actress now had Veronica’s wary full attention.   
“Did you know that the average person - they don’t distinguish between good and bad,” Callie continued. “Oh, they know the difference, but they are much more concerned with who is weak, and who is strong. They are weak, and they follow the rules because they don’t have the power to flaunt them. It’s why they worship at the altar of celebrity - celebrities are strong. They are rich, they are famous, and some rules simply do not apply to them.   
“Tell me, how many years did they hit Aaron Echolls with for killing your best friend? Oh, that’s right. None. Soon as the trial was done, he was out on the town fucking Mrs. Casablancas. Before someone with real power put a stop to it. Not the courts. Not right and wrong. Someone with a good gun and the power to get away with it.” Callie wasn’t just stating facts – the actress was laying bare the innermost details of Veronica’s life. Callie had obviously done her homework, and because of the Echolls trial and Casablancas investigation, far too much of Veronica’s personal life was now public record. Thankfully not all of Cassidy Casablancas’ crimes had made it into the record, so some few of Veronica’s secrets remained. Maybe. Callie persisted in her intimate flaying of Veronica’s life.  
“You think it was Jake Kane that had Aaron killed? It’s a little on the nose - he had threatened to kill Aaron when they caught him. Maybe use a Basic Instinct defense? Who would be dumb enough to kill the guy just like they announced they would? After all, it wouldn’t be the first time Jake Kane got away with breaking the law scott-free.  
“Or maybe it was your last boyfriend, Duncan. You think that nice sweet boy had it in him? Sneak back from wherever he is to shoot the bad man in the head? Did you know there’s hundreds of parental abductions in this country every year? Most of them go to jail. But not Duncan. No, the Kanes get to do what they want, don’t they? They always have.” This hit Veronica hard. It was clear now that, although meeting across from Kane headquarters was meant to remind her of Jake Kane, it wasn’t to just to hurt Veronica. It wasn’t a symbol of specific pain, like Lilly’s murder scene, or the Neptune Grand rooftop. It was a symbol of Veronica’s subjugation in the face of the rich and powerful. Kane Software was painful only because the feeling of powerlessness was so agonizing. And Callie wanted Veronica keenly aware of how much she hated powerlessness.  
“I see you Veronica. I see that you are strong, but you have suffered at the hands of the wicked, the stronger and the opportunistic. I know you. You deserve better, and you can take it. Join with XKSXS and no Aaron Echolls or Cassidy Casablancas will ever be able to hurt you again. Jake Kane will not be able to touch you, Celeste Kane cheat you, or Mercer Hayes drug you. We protect our own. Forcefully. It’s rarer than you’d think, and something I’m sure you appreciate. Do you protect your own Veronica?”  
“Of course I do –“ Veronica began.  
“And do you want to see those who hurt you paid back?” Callie asked earnestly, an intense gleam in her eye.  
Veronica pictured herself last month, weak and trembling on Moe’s floor, drugged to near insensibility. The world blurry and shaking back and forth as Veronica lay helpless on the ground. ‘Give me all the GHB you’ve got left,’ Mercer had said. ‘Get it down her throat. She won’t remember last year, let alone last night!’ Veronica had known she was going to die - that much GHB doesn’t make you forget. It makes you dead. Somehow, miraculously, she had lived. And when she later heard that Mercer was hospitalized? She had smiled.  
“Yes,” Veronica conveyed, her voice throaty with emotion. “I pay back those who hurt me and mine.”  
“Then come. Meet with Marshall Vesta. We recognize your power. We appreciate who you are. And we’ll help you fight those who would cause you harm.” It was telling that Callie offered assistance, and not protection. Veronica would not accept the latter, but had always relied on her friends for a hand.  
“And all I need to do is join the dark side!?” Veronica asked, her voice and eyes still thick with remembered defenselessness.  
“This isn’t fucking Star Wars, Veronica!” Callie exclaimed. “And if those terrible prequels taught us nothing else, it’s that the world isn’t as simple as just light and dark. You’re telling me you always play by the rules? Never lied? Never went where you weren’t allowed? Never did something wrong to get something right? If you’re someone who meekly takes getting fucked and then stands idly by, then you’re right, I don’t know you.”  
But Callie wasn’t wrong - Veronica fought back. She’d been fighting back and punching out of her weight class for years. Because letting evil persist was unacceptable. Cassidy raping her, Aaron killing Lilly - these things had to be stopped. And if Neptune’s Primadonna Clouseau - Sheriff Lamb - couldn’t do it, it still had to be done.  
Veronica sighed, realizing that Callie did know Veronica. Knew her inside and out. Knew her strengths and her flaws - understood them and accepted Veronica for who she was, without reservation. It was more than even Logan could do. And for the girl who had been abandoned by every lover, left discarded by her own mother, that kind of welcoming was very appealing.  
Veronica had to admit Callie was right. She was right about Veronica’s skill, and her strength. She was right at how much Veronica chafed at rules. She was right that the thing inside her, that drove her, that pushed her onward, was rooted deep in what Cassidy, Aaron, and their ilk had done to her. And that Veronica Mars would do anything to pay them back.  
Callie Beck was right about everything.


	7. Chapter 7

Callie Beck was right about everything.  
Everything. Except one thing.   
Innocent casualties are a horror.  
Despite her looks, her insights, her wit and her welcoming, Callie’s invitation was easy to reject. Veronica would prefer to endure pain and frustration with Debra, stopping this woman, any day. The detective saw more of herself in the humiliated and violated cheerleader than she did in this diminutive doppelgänger. Callie’s cost for personal power was unacceptable - no matter how appealing the rest of her arguments. It seemed to be the one thing that the otherwise incisive actress didn’t understand.  
XKSXS hadn’t invented human depravity, but Callie Beck was goddamned skilled at it. Veronica had dealt with a cult once before, if you could call it that. Hippies being nice to each other and growing poinsettias hardly qualified. Her father had been adamant that Veronica have nothing to do with them. Now that she saw a real cult at work, Veronica understood why he had wanted her to keep her distance - it didn’t matter if you were smart, just if you were hurt or could be hurt. They preyed on the wounded, the abandoned, and the naive. Two and change years ago, Veronica was no longer naive, but she had been wounded. Abandoned, limping along with only her father in her corner and the beginnings of friendship with Wallace. Callie was reading Veronica like a goddamned roadmap, and under other circumstances she might have just folded right up for the actress. It’s almost certainly what Marshall Vesta had done to Callie herself.  
So now that Veronica was on to the game, how could she win? Play coy and string Callie along, hoping to get the camera down the road? Or Veronica could pretend to go along with Callie for now. Maybe set up a long game with some kind of recording-device sting? That had worked well before. XKSXS certainly had its allure, and it would take no effort at all to sell the story that Veronica wanted to join. Veronica would be able to get access to the inner workings, steal or sting from the inside. But then Veronica would be in. They would make her do something. And then something else. And never be able to leave.  
Veronica knew how these things worked - small things at first, and then they drew the line just a bit further, got just a bit more on you. And then, when they had enough, they owned you. That was the point in having Debra recruit someone - it’s not that she would be an effective extortionist, but she would now be complicit in getting someone else involved. Debra would never be able to leave, even if she could live down the sex tape, because Callie and Vesta would always be able to show that Debra was equally to blame in some poor girl’s plight.  
Veronica must give Callie nothing.  
And so, with all her wit, Veronica Mars knew the perfect thing to say to Callie Beck. Veronica looked Callie directly in the eye, and resolved never to underestimate this woman again.   
Gravely and calmly, she said “Fuck you,” and left.


	8. Chapter 8

“And you said WHAT to Callie?” Debra exclaimed.  
“I told her ‘Fuck you,’” Veronica reported. “Succinct, but it gets the point across with just that little bit of something extra, don’t you think? When someone’s trying to hurt you, sometimes the best thing you can do is tell them to fuck off and just walk away.”  
“Just wish I could have said it myself ... yesterday morning,” Debra lamented. “I think you made the right call - don’t give her anything she can use.”  
“Well, I’m glad you’re happy about it,” Veronica replied. “Because it makes swiping that camera really hard.”  
The four teens were back at their table in the campus commons, a couple of half-empty pizza boxes before them, along with Mac’s open laptop. The post-mortem of the Veronica’s meeting with Callie was easier over lunch.  
Turning to Mac, Veronica asked “so what are the results of our little excursion yesterday afternoon?”  
“I got control over the WiFi, and was able to back into Callie’s computer when she logged in last night,” Mac reported. “They have a central server where it seems they keep at least one copy of all the ‘collateral,’ which Callie accessed via FTP. It looks like they keep one folder for each girl, based on the folder names, but each one is password protected. Callie opened up Debra’s file, so I was able to get that password and look around. The activity history will show what I did, but hopefully they don’t look at their activity logs - most people don’t.   
“Unfortunately, the password to Debra’s folder didn’t work on the others, so each folder must be separately encrypted. I can only log Callie’s keystrokes and get the passwords she uses - if I try spoofing passwords on the others it might cause a lockout, and then Callie and Vesta will definitely check the activity logs, giving us away. So, it’s unlikely we can do a clean sweep to access and delete other people’s stuff too.”  
Mac looked sorrowfully at Debra. “Which do you want to hear first, the bad news, the not-so-bad news, or the possibly good news?”  
“Bad news first.” Debra exhaled heavily with a sense of resignation. “Let’s get it out of the way.”  
“Ok, “ Mac began, “the bad news is that an IP address in New York accessed your folder and downloaded the contents. It’s probably Vesta, getting a sneak preview before coming to California. And if he saved a copy to his local computer, I’m not sure I can get access to delete it.” Debra’s eyes watered a bit at hearing this, but no tears were shed and her clenched jaw showed both the cheerleader’s anger and her newfound resolve.  
“So - not-so-bad news,” Mac continued, “I think I can come up with a Trojan Horse to put on the video, so we can track any future downloads. Depending on how long it takes for virus-scan to catch, maybe we can also get access to Vesta’s computer that way.  
“But, the good news, I can see what Callie Beck does on her computer when she’s home. If she does something we can use against her, then I should be able to get all the evidence we need to get them to back off. It’s wait-and-see, but it might pan out.”  
Wallace sighed. “I hate wait-and-see,” the dynamic point guard commented.  
“Maybe we can speed things up,” Veronica said thoughtfully. “Mac, what was the password on Debra’s folder?”  
“Lyonne,” Mac replied.  
“The town in France? Ok, that’s a little random. Maybe this is a dead end,” Veronica said.  
“No,” Mac corrected. “It’s spelled L-Y-O-N-N-E. Capital L.”  
At this Veronica smiled. “Alright, I think I’m getting a handle on this girl. Mac, can you try ‘Pretty Woman’ as a password on the other folders? One word, capital P, capital W.”  
Mac’s fingers flew over the keyboard, then abruptly stopped. Looking up in surprise, she exclaimed, “Hey, it worked! That was the password to one of the folders. How did you know?”  
“Callie Beck has all the originality of a bad fanfic writer or a Pi Sig frat boy,” Veronica explained. “She gives each girl a mildly witty ‘pledge name’ vaguely associated with them, and that’s the password. Debra, the cheerleader with a lion’s spirit, gets named after the star of But I’m a Cheerleader - Natasha Lyonne. Miss Red is one of Callie’s whores, and gets the title of Julia Roberts’ film playing a lady of the evening. I saw she had a tattoo of the same on her shoulder - probably Callie marking her property. Mac, see what details you can find about the people whose names are on the other folders, I think I’m in Callie’s head enough to be able to guess a bunch of passwords.”  
The mood in the room shifted, Veronica’s smile spread around the room like sunlight tearing through clouds. Wallace, the exuberant team player, was the first to break into a genuine grin, but even staid Mac was cracking a big smile at the possibility of success. Debra looked among her three new friends and found herself smiling with them.  
“Ok...” Debra said, looking a bit heartened. “That’s... well that’s amazing! I don’t know what I expecting when I asked for help, but you guys have gone full Ocean’s Eleven here. So what do I do when Marshall Vesta flies back and asks to meet?”  
At Debra’s optimistic question, an awkward silence fell like a stone through thin ice. The brief reprieve now made it worse as each of the Hearst students tried, and failed, to avoid thinking of what Vesta would do.  
“Well, this is going to be the worst birthday ever,” Debra derided. Either she had been naturally sarcastic before, or two days with Veronica had rubbed off on her. Deflecting awkwardness and pain with humor was always a classic.  
“Happy birthday,” Veronica deadpanned. “I don’t suppose you’re turning eighteen?”  
“No, nineteen,” Debra answered morosely. “One year of freedom, such as it was.”  
Veronica brightened as an idea struck her, her voice animated and excited as she described her proposal, “hey, guys? I think I have a new plan C. It’s going to sound dumb, but I think it might work. What if we changed Debra’s birth certificate to make her seem underage? XKSXS could never release the tapes – they’d just get themselves caught for pedophilia.”  
Mac was the first to respond, “I hate to rain on your parade, Veronica. It’s a good idea, but Debra’s age is recorded all over the place. Her physical birth certificate is on file in Indiana, her DOB is on record with the school here, her credit score and credit cards will have it listed, and her driver’s license is with whatever state DMV.”  
“Driver’s license is also Indiana,” Debra provided.  
“Right,” Mac went on. “We could cancel the credit cards and ‘correct’ the birthdate with the credit bureaus if someplace official has it on record that Debra’s 17. But I don’t see how we change the date with someplace official, like the school or Indiana.”  
Veronica smiled, undeterred, “Mac, you’re a genius. I think I can get to the school records. Wallace and Debra, you think you can go to the Neptune DMV to get Debra’s license switched over to California? I’ll make a call – someone in politics owes me a favor and can probably get the DMV to put in a ‘typo’ making her look 17. And Mac, I promise, no more jumping off of tall buildings for you. In fact, I think I’ve figured out the most perfectly safe, helpful thing to do – call up credit card companies and reporting bureaus.” Veronica beamed beatifically at her taciturn friend. “Hey, it beats ‘wait-and-see’?”  
“I wanted safe, not boring,” Mac complained. Mac looked across the table at Debra, whose jaw was clenched against the injustice and humiliation of her situation. Seeing the young woman hurting, Mac was reminded of how Cassidy Casablancas had left her last year, alone and naked in a hotel room. It wasn’t as bad as what Veronica, or Parker, or Debra had borne, but living through abuse wasn’t a competition to see who suffered the worst and deeming it worthy. Mac could unfortunately relate to what Debra was going through as well, and set aside the rest of her grumbling.   
“Fine, I’ll do it,” Mac conceded, “ – but I’ll be hacking Callie’s FTP, too. When the balloon goes up on this, I don’t want to just be running and hiding - I want to destroy XKSXS.”  
Veronica Mars smiled the same selachimorphic smile she had on hearing of Mercer’s hospitalization. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, friend.”


	9. Chapter 9

Veronica waited outside the closed and locked Hearst College Registrar’s office for her rendezvous, holding a late-afternoon cup of coffee. A brown-skinned bald-headed man in a chocolate-brown Hearst janitorial uniform walked down the hall towards Veronica, his heavy work boots thumping to announce his impending arrival. Eli “Weevil” Navarro had been a sometimes ally and formidable presence at Neptune High School as the head of the Pacific Coast Highway motorcycle gang – but he had lost his gang to a rival, Thumper, and was on parole after a short prison stint for assaulting his now-mysteriously-disappeared usurper.  
In theory, Weevil was on the straight and narrow, but the lifestyle still seemed as ill-fitting as the janitor’s outfit over his powerful frame. Even Weevil’s bullnecked musculature was trending towards pudginess, a shocking development compared to a year-and-a-half ago. Back then, the intimidating biker was on the front lines of near race riots, and one of Weevil’s PCHers had blasted a shotgun at Veronica. As chafing as Weevil’s current menial role might be, it was better than the brief-but-disastrous attempt to work at a parolee-inhabited carwash. The internment internship had nearly resulted in strangulation – figurative for Weevil, and literal for his former boss. Weevil still owed Veronica for getting him the Hearst job. And later clearing him of suspected robbery.  
Walking up towards Veronica, the dangling mass of keys jangling from his waist, Weevil stopped, cocked his head to a 45-degree angle, and in a high-pitched voice breathlessly chimed, “hey.”  
Veronica narrowed her eyes at Weevil. “I know that look,” Veronica said skeptically.  
“You should,” Weevil answered, this time in his normal rough basso. “I learned it from you.”  
“That’s the ‘I need a favor look,’” Veronica accused.  
“Well, then, I’m glad I got it right,” Weevil brashly stated. “V, I need a favor.”  
“Hey, hey, hey,” Veronica protested. “I called you because I needed a favor.”  
“Well then,” Weevil retorted, “sounds like a match made in heaven. My Latin’s a little rusty, but what’s the term again? _Quid pro quo_?”  
Veronica sighed. “Yeah, ok Mr. Latin Latino – you help me, I’ll help you. But I always figured you for _fortes fortuna adiuvat_.” Weevil looked confused at the unfamiliar Latin phrase - he was a smart guy, but hadn’t had a robust academic education.  
“I’ll tell you later,” Veronica said. “Ok, so what’s the favor?”  
“I got a new parole officer. Real hardass - Javier Corvus. I think he gets a bonus every time he catches someone with a violation, or maybe he’s just got a chip on his shoulder with all the cholos making his latin ass look bad. He’s really got it out for me. He’s been scheduling my parole meetings during my work shifts, home inspections when I’m babysitting the cousins. Tries to make it impossible for me to do anything.  
“Then, yesterday, I think he actually tried to sabotage me. You know I got a beater off of Uncle Angel to get around, right? You saw it back around Halloween, when those crooked campus cops tried to plant stuff on me. Most parolees, they have to bus it, and they’re just screwed if they have a bad meeting time. Me, I got wheels. Or I had wheels. Yesterday someone slashed all four of my tires - I had to ‘borrow’ a whole set off of someone else in the parking lot to make my parole meeting. Campus is practically empty over break - I’m sure it was this guy. I need your help to get a new parole officer, or just get Corvus off my back.”  
“Ok, I’ll see what I can do about Javert,” Veronica replied.  
“His name’s Javier,” Weevil corrected.  
Veronica looked intently at Weevil and said, “Weevil, you need more Broadway in your life, my friend.”  
“One more thing you should know,” Weevil mentioned uneasily. “I hear he’s fishing buddies with Sheriff Lamb or something.”  
Veronica threw up her hands in exasperation. “You’re telling me the tight screw that has it in for you is fucking connected?!” Veronica’s government friend had limited ability to affect anything in law enforcement, and definitely not against someone who had inroads in the local kakistocracy. “This isn’t something that can be fixed with a little bureaucratic SNAFU! You’re asking me to tail, and then blackmail, a connected, crooked parole officer?!”  
Weevil deflated, the shape of the former PCH strongman going concave. Weevil was a shadow of his former self - begging scraps from his uncle and from Veronica. When Veronica had gotten him the Hearst job a few months back, he had been all but resigned to getting thrown back in prison, unemployed and unemployable. Probably the only reason he hadn’t become a career criminal was because of pride and politics. The largest gang around, the Fitzpatricks, had declared him a sworn enemy, but couldn’t physically touch him. And Weevil was far too proud to crawl back to the PCHers, the gang that had cast him aside. There wasn’t a lot of ground left between the two if Weevil had wanted to make a dishonest go of things.  
Veronica looked at her friend, sadness welling up at seeing him try to do right, even as it diminished him in his own eyes. “Fine!” Veronica admitted. “But I need you to get me access to the Registrar’s records. And you owe me big after this. Don’t think I’ll forget.”  
Weevil straightened and put on one of his patented cocky smiles. He wouldn’t accept pity, but an exchange of favors he could live with. Veronica wasn’t dealing with him as a charity case, but as an equal - it was what he needed. Veronica could understand.  
“You and me, Veronica, we keep trading favors - who’s counting anymore?” Taking one of the many keys from the key ring at his waist, Weevil unlocked the door to the darkened office, entering and turning on the lights. He lead the way past the large partition blocking off the staff-only area, went behind a series of bank-teller style raised counters, and towards a large back door. Weevil grabbed another key to open this back area, quickly ducking in and, based on the beeping noises, punching in the alarm code. He kept his swaggering grin as he made a florid bow before the second door - Veronica resisted the urge to rub his bald head as she passed. They weren’t up to that level of familiarity.  
Making her way to the “P” file, Veronica quickly found Debra Penney’s document folder, complete with copies of her birth certificate, high school transcript, and immunization record.  
“Which way is the photocopier?” Veronica asked.  
“It’s back in the main office - for some reason they don’t want to make it too easy to just copy people’s files,” Weevil answered. Going back to the main room, Veronica had to wait an interminable amount for the copy machine to start up. Although the machine had surely been in use earlier in the day, the Registrar staff must have shut it down when they left for the evening.  
“So why do you need this stuff, anyway?” Weevil asked while they waited for the machine to boot up.  
“Sorry, Weevil - private investigator, remember? Can’t say.” The machine had finished its startup routine. Thankfully it was one of the newer ones, which could save to a USB drive - Veronica plugged in a blank flash drive and began scanning the file. “Are you even supposed to have access to the Registrar? Not to state the obvious, but it would be super easy to commit credit card fraud with all that information. Come to think of it - weren’t you arrested for that once?”  
Weevil grunted. “Arrested. I didn’t do it. You do everything that Don Lamb brought you into the station for? The only thing on my record is misdemeanor assault. But to answer your question, no, I’m not supposed to be here. The maintenance crew is more concerned about who can do a good job than some stupid rule handed down from the suits. So they gave me a key and the code anyway. And I’m not dumb enough to steal credit card info - I guarantee they trace it back to me. Even if it wasn’t me. Credit cards leave too much paper trail. Plus I’d prolly cost my boss his job. He cut me slack when I got arrested a couple months ago and has been looking out for me – most places fire you for missing half a week of work unscheduled. I owe him better than that.” That was consistent with Weevil’s MO - he was behaving, not out of any distinction that stealing was bad, but because he was loyal to the people who helped him. Veronica was sure that Weevil could figure out a way to profit from Hearst student info if he had wanted to. Veronica was also sure that any suitably anonymous theft, that didn’t lead back to his boss, was probably still fair game. A leopard doesn’t change his spots, even if he covers them up with a maintenance uniform.  
“This seems a little slow-pitch for you V - you going from super sleuth to office aide?” Weevil asked as Veronica closed the file and moved to one of the desks. Her planned alterations needed a flat surface.  
“Hey!” Veronica objected. “I am work study – library information desk, remember. And as much fun as it is almost getting caught,” Veronica retorted, “I think going into an empty office with a key is probably a better idea. It’s a lot harder to get caught when there’s nobody around.”  
Just then, an unfamiliar male voice called into the office, sending a spike of fear through the interlopers, “Hello?”  
Veronica ducked down and hid behind the long desk almost before the panicked expression had appeared on her face. Her quick reaction saved her from certain exposure, as the unfamiliar voice came closer. Veronica was rethinking her ideas on superstition - her conversation with Weevil definitely seemed to have jinxed what was supposed to be a milk run. “Hello, who’s there?”  
“Maintenance” Weevil announced to the newcomer, bold as eagles on the wing. “What can I do for you?”  
“We got a notice that someone was in the Registrar’s record room after hours. It’s standard policy for campus security to check,” the unseen man reported. Almost certainly campus security by the context.  
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Weevil replied confidently, “ - you must get this a lot. The main HVAC processors for this part of the building are in there. Convenient for keeping the noise down around people, and making sure the records room is climate controlled. Not so great whenever I need to fix something. I punch in the code wrong?”  
“No,” the security guard replied. “It was right. Next time stop by campus security first - nobody is supposed to be back here unattended. College only trusts Registrar personnel, or maintenance staff if there’s security here.”  
There was an odd silence, and Veronica could only imagine the look on Weevil’s face as he tried to convey his disbelief in the trustworthiness of the campus security, the people that had tried to frame him for robbery, while not insulting the officer in front of him. Withholding a snarky comment was significant restraint by Weevil. Although it was probably the right call, the longer that Officer Do-right stuck around, the more likely it was that he would walk back and see Veronica behind the open-backed desk. Veronica tried to breathe silently and keep her anxiety to herself.  
“You’re Eli Navarro, right?” the security guard asked awkwardly, after the prolonged silence.  
“Yeah,” Eli answered brusquely.  
“Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but the rest of the security force is embarrassed as hell about Harrison and Sasaki. So, on behalf of those assholes, I’m sorry. It was stupid of them, and it makes the whole department look corrupt, dumb, and incompetent. More than most campus security. I’m sure you’ve held back from suing the school for your own reasons, but the guys really appreciate it – a lot of staff might lose their jobs if you did. The way I see it, we owe you. You ever need anything, ask for me. Justin Fidelar. I’m in classes during the day, but work security after hours to pay tuition. I promise minimum hassle.”  
Mollified, Weevil admitted, “never had a cop say sorry before.”  
“Yeah, well, according to everyone I’m not a real cop anyway,” Justin said self-deprecatingly. “So, how long will the fix take?”  
“Almost no time at all,” Weevil replied. “But I’ve got to go back to the storage area to get a new air compressor - old one is shot. I was just about to lock up and go get the part - you want to babysit the locked files or come with me?”  
“I can give you a ride in the security cart, save some time,” Justin offered. It was a politic offer of aid, masking the fact that Justin wasn’t going to leave Weevil alone.  
Weevil turned off the light in the records room and closed the door firmly, then walked out-of-sight towards the Registrar’s front door. The lights went out in the Registrar’s office shortly before Veronica heard the loud slam of a door closing and the click of a lock turning.  
In a panic, Veronica quickly checked the entrance to the file room, but the door glided open easily when Veronica pushed on it. Checking the latch, Veronica saw that Weevil had put electrical tape on it to prevent it from closing, probably while he was doing that ridiculous bow when they first came in. Smart thinking. Veronica turned on the light of the records room and plopped on the floor to work as quickly as she could – she was sure Weevil would stall as long as possible by looking for the part, but that wouldn’t be long. Fortunately, changing “1988” to “1989” was about as basic a change as you could hope for – a little bit of nail polish remover and a q-tip on the copy of the high school transcript and the birth certificate did the trick, and even looked pretty official. For good measure, Veronica took her coffee cup and judiciously added a coffee ring to the immunization records to obscure the years. Veronica debated how much time she had, and quickly scanned the altered birth certificate, but decided not to push for the rest. She made a quick flip through the file to make sure she hadn’t missed anything before putting it back, turning out the lights, and leaving the Registrar’s office, taking Weevil’s electrical tape along the way. Ideally she would have liked to make a copy of the altered file, but there wasn’t a moment to spare.

…

Weevil Navarro walked down the darkened alleyway leading to his derelict apartment, his shadow cast long in the streetlit night, larger than the man himself. As Weevil scraped the key into its fissure, his stomach rumbled.  
Maintenance crew at Hearst was hard, heavy work – it frequently left Eli exhausted, especially on days that involved trudging all over the sprawling campus. There wasn’t always time to grab food, and Weevil was definitely eating more crap than when he had been living next to grandma – today had been a day where he had skipped a meal or two. But the work was good – Weevil knew the tools and it was something he was good at – his boss and the other guys respected him. That mattered a lot. It was worth fighting for. But Corvus had Weevil running at his beck and call. Weevil had to do whatever the P.O. required, or else he’d lose his job, and go back to jail for real. Recidivism – a big, fancy, ugly word for when you get a taste of freedom before the assholes in charge decide you don’t deserve it.  
As Weevil opened the door to his alleyway apartment, he found the lustrous fair-haired figure of Veronica Mars already inside. As great as it was to come home to find a hottie waiting for him, Weevil tempered his expectations. The last time Veronica had broken into his place, it was to threaten him and snoop for stolen goods. Based on the pizza box next to the petite woman, this looked to be a friendlier visit, but not that friendly. He was sure if he pushed too far there’d be some pepper spray in his future, but that wasn’t necessary – Veronica had set the boundaries pretty clearly, and Weevil could respect them. Having the newly-single blond appear at his place did reinforce one central truth in Weevil’s life – Logan Echolls was a gilipollas who didn’t appreciate a fine woman.  
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Weevil rejoined. “People are going to start to talk.”  
“I needed to get more info on this Corvus character and your meeting schedule coming up.” Veronica answered. “Plus, I wanted to thank you for the save back at campus – I remember you mentioned a working man doesn’t turn down free pizza?” Veronica asked, opening the box to display a box full of cheesy goodness topped with meat.  
“Chorizo pizza?” Weevil asked enthusiastically, his stomach growling in equally enthusiastic, nonverbal agreement. “Are you sure you aren’t trying to seduce me, V?”  
Veronica’s bright smile dimmed. Weevil couldn’t tell if it was because she was reminded of her own recent breakup, or if she was thinking of how Weevil had once dated her friend, Lilly. Either one was definitely a mood killer. “No, Weevil – just pizza and business.”  
As they tucked in to eating the late dinner, Veronica stopped after only half a slice. “Sorry – we did pizza for lunch too. The life of a college student. Any more and I might turn into a Ninja Turtle.  
“Weevil, about this afternoon? Are you going to get in trouble for lying about the broken HVAC?”  
Weevil finished swallowing his second slice of delicious mozzarella-topped-carbs and answered Veronica is his usual forthright manner. “Give me some credit, V. I knew what you wanted as soon I got your call to meet at the Registrar after closing. You’re getting predictable. I turned off the A/C earlier this afternoon to make it look broken - Registrar asked Maintenance to come. I didn’t have to lie at all.”  
Veronica cocked an eyebrow appreciatively. “Nice. _Fortes fortuna adiuvat._  
“Fortune favors the bold.”


	10. Chapter 10

Veronica awoke in the two-bedroom apartment she shared with her father to the smell of pancakes and bacon. Coming out to the efficiently arranged kitchen area, Veronica saw the source of the delicious smells as the bald-headed silhouette worked in front of the stove. Coming closer, she saw her father, Keith Mars, his stocky figure already dressed for the day in a smart button-down shirt and thick, dark cotton slacks.  
“Good morning!” Keith greeted. “I thought you might appreciate a real breakfast - I haven’t seen you much the past couple of days, which is impressive since I know where you live and where you work.” Although the next part was still said in the same cheery tone, Veronica could tell the thinly-veiled real question behind it, “You were out late last night. Everything ok?”  
“Yeah, I was at Weevil’s,” Veronica replied. There was no sense lying, Keith had probably tracked her phone last night. Even if he hadn’t, Veronica thought he might be able to help with Corvus, so Veronica would have to tell him about last night regardless. Still, the concerned reaction Keith showed, turning around and furrowing his brow in evident anxiety, betrayed his consternation at the thought of his only daughter fraternizing with unsavory characters.  
“It was strictly business,” Veronica reported. “No kissing on the mouth. He was very gentlemanly, and left a generous tip on the nightstand.” The dark look Keith gave at Veronica’s jest made her glad Keith wasn’t holding his gun - Veronica may have pushed things too far. Wouldn’t be the first time. Veronica decided to change back to the topic quickly, rather than make it worse. “No, really, he just asked for my help with something and I needed more information. He’s truly trying to get his life on track, and the job at Hearst is working out. But he has a new parole officer that seems to have it in for him. Do you know anything about a P.O. named Javier Corvus?”  
Keith calmed down and looked less like he was going to have to kill Weevil. Knowing Keith, Veronica’s joke might have been an imminent threat to Weevil’s well-being. Although they historically had mutual distrust, Keith and Weevil both seemed to think better of each other since Weevil’s two-day tenure working for Keith at Mars Investigations. Weevil hadn’t been temperamentally suited for the job, but had shown skill and a determination to work, while Keith had shown he was willing to give the former criminal a chance. Keith’s newfound respect didn’t mean he wanted Weevil to date his daughter, though - it had taken enough work to convince him to accept Logan, who had never actually been convicted of any crimes.  
“Humph,” Keith grunted pensively, as he plated the complete breakfast, which Veronica wasted no time in drizzling with maple syrup. “That guy. Yeah, I’ve heard of Corvus. Back when I was Sheriff, we got some complaints from the families of convicts that he was making it impossible to make parole meetings. I spent a couple of days looking into it, and all I found for sure was that he’s an asshole - pardon the language. No evidence that he broke the law or parole officer’s code. P.O.’s have pretty wide latitude in some things, especially scheduling - most of them are decent people doing the best they can despite being horribly overworked. And it’s not like people go out of their way to write rules keeping convicts out of prison.  
“I had Deputy Lamb open a file on him. Wasn’t sure Lamb’d turn up anything more than what I saw, but I thought I’d at least give Corvus a taste of what it feels like to have an asshole poking into his life. Maybe teach him some sympathy. The thing with Lilly Kane happened not too long after that, and as you can imagine I haven’t really been involved since then.” Keith had a gift for understatement - he had lost his former position as Sheriff in the wake of the Lilly Kane murder investigation, which had turned into a political and media circus.  
Veronica swallowed her latest bite of sugary pancake before ruefully responding. “Yeah, well, Lamb seemed to have found a kindred spirit rather than a hapless victim to persecute. I hear they’re inseparable now. Los cohones even share a rod on their annual marlin fishing trips together.”  
Keith, ever the consummate professional, maintained a stoic poker face at Veronica’s jape. Even if it was hilarious. The biggest winner in the Lilly Kane media circus was also Neptune’s biggest clown, now-Sheriff Lamb. Despite Keith’s respect for the position, Veronica spared no opportunity in making fun of the new Sheriff, to skewer the incompetent enabler. To Lamb-poon him, if you will. In only the most recent example, Lamb had recently concluded his “investigation” into Aaron Echolls’ murder, posthumously laying full blame at Kendall Casablancas. Kendall Casablancas, the woman who had called the police and admitted to sleeping with Echolls, because she hadn’t done it. Kendall Casablancas, who was maybe the only person in Balboa country without a motive against its most hated resident. Veronica supposed she should count her blessings that Lamb hadn’t decided to blame Veronica herself – after all, Veronica had been in the building. Or on the roof of the building almost getting killed, at any rate. At least in this instance Veronica could understand Lamb’s lazy desire to just close the case. Veronica didn’t feel any burning need to track down whoever shot Lilly Kane’s killer, except maybe to shake his hand.  
Veronica continued when it became obvious that her father wasn’t going to acknowledge the jejeune humor for the genius it was, “Well, it seems like Señor Crow has graduated from being a jerk to an outright criminal - Weevil is pretty sure that the P.O. slashed his tires a couple days ago. If Corvus is willing to go to illegal lengths in nailing Weevil, it’s only a matter of time before Weevil is back in prison. I was hoping for a favor....”  
“Honey, you know I love nothing more than catching dirty law enforcement officers in the act -” Keith began, when Veronica suddenly interrupted him.  
“No you don’t!” Veronica exclaimed. “You hate it! You feel personally affronted and wounded whenever someone in the Sheriff’s Department is stupid, lazy, or corrupt. I can’t think of anything you despise more than an officer of the law betraying the public trust! You hold the Sheriff’s office in high regard, and loved nothing more than being Sheriff yourself. You fight tooth-and-nail against any form of incompetence or corruption there. It’s the only reason you ran for the Sheriff’s office last year – the thought of keeping Wank Drebin in charge of murder investigations was an injustice to the community. And, despite that, out of a sense of personal loyalty, the last time you caught someone stealing from the evidence locker you only reported him for dereliction and not outright malfeasance. The things you do for a guy just because he’s a decent man and saved your life that one time.”  
Keith sighed and shook his head. “Remind me not to lie to you - you’re getting too good at this. Let’s try this again. Honey, you know I love nothing more than holding those who break the public trust accountable, especially when it’s catching one of Lamb’s cronies, giving this selfish man,” indicating himself, “some personal vindication that I was trying to be polite about, and providing further proof that Lamb needs to be replaced with someone competent. But. I promised the bondsman I’d catch a bail jumper; I don’t think I’ll have time to lend a hand.”  
“Your word is your bond,” Veronica half-joked. “Plus, you gotta pay the rent. Weevil will understand - he’s also just trying to get by. What I do really need, though, is to borrow your car and some of the tracking and listening equipment.”  
“What’s wrong with your car?” Keith asked concerned.  
“Nothing!” Veronica answered quickly about her graduation present. “Works great! I super love it. But shiny new metallic Saturns aren’t the most inconspicuous vehicles on the road - if I’m following Corvus around then Titan might catch his attention.”  
“Titan?” Keith asked dubiously.  
“My car’s unofficial nickname. Largest moon of Saturn, describes Saturn’s Greek equivalent Chronus,” Veronica explained. Saying the next part as if it were obvious, Veronica went on. “If we don’t give impressive names to things, then how are people going to take us seriously?”  
“I was just wondering why people don’t take us more seriously...” Keith drolly commented, obviously thinking that the car’s nickname may not carry the gravity intended.  
“Anyway,” Veronica said, “I’d rather use your old sedan. You can catch your bail jumper in Titan - lots of room in the back. Try not to mess it up - I really like it.”  
Keith paused for a moment to consider before offering, “Yeah. You can have the old sedan for a few days while I chase tall, dark, and ransomed. And honey?”  
“Yeah, Dad?”  
“I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing - you get into trouble, let me know. I’ve got your back,” Keith said seriously.  
Keith’s promise did give Veronica an unreasonable amount of comfort. He’d already proven he would walk through flames for her, she had no doubt he would do it again.  
“C’mon, Dad,” Veronica said lightly, “This is me we’re talking about. What’re the odds that I get into trouble?”


	11. Chapter 11

Veronica Mars sat in the worn, dark sedan she had borrowed from her father, looking out from her parked car to the municipal building across the street. The three-story red-brick block, located down the street from the courthouse, housed the parole officers, among other things. Javier Corvus’ car, however, was not in sight. In high school Veronica had, somewhat embarrassingly, learned that P.O.’s often had to visit parolees all over town, frequently at the sorts of establishments that reputable citizens avoided. In the middle of the day, he was likely on such a trip - Veronica was banking that he would stop back at the office at some point before all the really interesting places opened in the afternoon and evening.  
It was not lost on Veronica that Javier’s job gave legitimate cover to check out liquor stores, gambling establishments, and strip clubs. If Corvus had gone crooked going after Weevil, he might be abusing his power over other parolees in places like that, as well. In fact, it would be much easier to indict Corvus on some established corruption than try to catch him in the act of some petty mischief against Weevil.  
So Veronica sat in the dark car, waiting for Corvus to return to work, thankful she had brought some music. Veronica had parked the old sedan in a parking lot across the street from the municipal building - at one point the dark car had been midnight blue, but time and wind had eroded it to “after midnight” blue. Or maybe Veronica just thought of it that way because of all the Clapton her dad played on the car radio. At this point the car was less blue and just some indescribable, worn color best described as “dark” - perfect for anonymously blending in.  
Veronica put a pause on her music and gave Mac a call - no reason she couldn’t multitask. Stakeouts were boring.  
“Hey, Veronica,” Mac greeted. “What’s the favor you need?”  
Veronica pretended to be affronted at the presumption that she was calling for a favor - even though she was. Maybe Weevil had been right, she was getting predictable. “Hey, can’t I just call my best bud Mac to see how she’s doing?”  
“With the Debra stuff going on right now? No.” Mac replied succinctly. “You wouldn’t call to just shoot the breeze while someone needs help, and you don’t discuss case details over the phone, so you’re not checking in. So - you must be asking for a favor.”  
Veronica grumbled, “What happened to leaving the detective work to me, Mac the Knife?”  
“Veronica,” Mac expounded, “that’s not detective work - that’s just knowing your friend. It’s not hard to know you need a favor - I think that was your default setting in High School. But I’m glad you do, because I’m bored. So, whatcha need?”  
Veronica sighed in resignation. Mac did know her pretty well. Veronica was still getting used to having friends again - but it wasn’t a bad thing. “Can you get me any information you can find on Javier Corvus, a parole officer? You can use the Mars Private Eyez account to check his credit history and stuff - I ran it by dad, and took a quick look myself. But also look into any online presence he has. I have reason to believe he’s corrupt, but I’m not sure how yet.”  
“Oooh... seedy,” Mac cooed. “Just the thing I was looking for. Meet up on campus tomorrow? For this and the other thing?” Mac asked, referring to Debra’s case.  
“Yeah, sounds good,” Veronica said, as a new BMW pulled up to the lot across the street. The pitch-colored Beemer practically gleamed amidst the more pedestrian vehicles. “Gotta go,” Veronica added. “I think my guy just pulled up.”  
Veronica watched as a thin Latino man stepped out of the high end car, his jet-black hair buzzed short and his eyes covered by Aviators. The license plate matched the info Veronica had looked up - this was her guy. Javier Corvus wore black chinos and a flowing onyx button-down collared shirt with the top buttons undone. Veronica would have thought he looked like a ridiculous villain from a Bruckheimer movie if it weren’t for the fact that the guy, in his late 20’s, obviously took himself very seriously. Maybe he had watched the Brandon Lee movie a few too many times before deciding on his color choices - he was definitely going with a Crow theme. Just as well he skipped the makeup.  
Veronica pulled out her telephoto camera and snapped a couple of quick pictures of Javier as he walked towards the building, and a few of the car for good measure. Then Veronica started her own sedan and made the arduous trip across the street, parking in the municipal building lot. Grabbing a GPS tracker, she stuck it on the underside of Javier’s car, making it as hard to find as possible.  
Veronica debated going into the office and coming up with a pretext to meet Corvus face-to-face. She couldn’t use her real name - Lamb would likely have mentioned Veronica to his buddy, or even cursory knowledge of Weevil’s case file would have brought her up. No, it wasn’t worth the risk or the waste of time. The only people Corvus would really show himself to would be the people in his power.  
Besides, Veronica already knew Corvus’ true colors, and they were black.

...

Veronica pulled into her usual spot down the street from the Camelot Motel, spotting Corvus’ black Beemer already in the lot. The Camelot was a low rent no-questions-asked sort of establishment that had been a frequent stop for Veronica when she had worked in her dad’s PI office more regularly. Veronica’s second stop tailing Corvus this afternoon felt like a sordid homecoming, of a sort.  
After a brief period at the office, Corvus had hopped back in his car to make some more rounds. His first stop had been In the Front Liquor - as the name belied, it was a cheap store for wine and spirits. Corvus had grabbed a bottle of something, but walked out without paying, leaving a chagrined and silent man red-faced behind the counter. Veronica had caught the petty theft on camera, but it would take something far more damning than forgetting to pay for booze to get Corvus off of Weevil’s back.  
The Camelot was Corvus’ second stop – although his car was in the lot, he was nowhere in sight. Likely already in a room. Veronica would just have to park until he came out with whoever.  
Just as Veronica was settling in, a tall, wiry figure suddenly appeared outside the passenger door of the sedan, its shadow falling upon Veronica in the car. The unexpected arrival of the silhouetted form startled the short-statured sleuth, making her sit upright and scramble for the stun gun in the bag beside her. Heart pounding as she finally got hold of the stunner, Veronica looked up to see who the figure was, before they could reach in the car. Veronica peered through the obstructed car window in time to see a woman’s back as she kept walking towards the motel. The figure obviously hadn’t been paying any attention to Veronica and her car – the pedestrian remained intent on her destination. But this was California – who walked anywhere?  
Veronica put back the stun gun and brought out her camera, taking some pictures of the passerby. The stays of a purple apron were visible on the tall woman’s back, and underneath she wore a white blouse and jeans. The woman’s chestnut hair was in an elaborate up-do. As Miss Up-Do approached the motel and turned, Veronica was able to see her in profile – mid-20’s and fairly pretty, but with lots of stress lines for her age. The monogram on the apron, enhanced by the telephoto, read “Mane Attraction” – the name of a hair salon at the strip mall a few blocks away.  
The hairdresser went up some of the outside stairs towards the balcony rooms, giving Veronica a better look at her face. She definitely wasn’t made up like a prostitute – along with the hair salon apron, it was pretty unlikely that she was a sex worker. But most normal people coming for an illicit assignation looked excited, like they were getting away with something dirty - this woman just looked morose. When she knocked on one of the doors and it opened, Veronica could see why - Corvus stood in the open doorway, now lacking a shirt entirely. He seemed to share Sheriff Lamb’s preoccupation with weight lifting, showing off an impressive set of pecs, but the toned P.O. failed to bring a smile to the hairdresser’s face. As the door closed behind the devilishly handsome man, the aproned woman looked like she was heading to her doom.

...

The late afternoon sun shown over Veronica’s shoulder as she stepped through the glass door of the Mane Attraction hair salon. As she walked in, Miss Up-Do was finishing with a customer, removing a purple smock from a middle-aged woman seated in the hairstyling chair in front of Miss Up-Do. Although there were three styling chairs, Miss Up-Do was the only one working – a second stylist was seated nearby reading Cosmo, apparently finding out just what she needed to do to perfect her technique in bed.  
“Jenny here will take you in back and get you started on that manicure,” Miss Up-Do told her customer, indicating the magazine reader sitting nearby.  
“Thanks, Casey,” the newly styled customer said, as she made her way towards the other stylist. “Great job, as always.”  
Casey the hairdresser swept up around the styling chair quickly and efficiently as Veronica walked into the salon and towards the stylist. “What can I do for you?” Casey asked, a friendly smile on her face.  
Veronica studied the hairdresser. There was light makeup attempting to hide the stress lines and also small pockmarks on Casey’s face. Her nails were chewed to rags, the remnants of polish at the base, but no attempt was made to fix it up or remove the polish. A meth addict, though a pretty recent and sporadic habit based on the scant scarification and constant finger-gnawing. Keith would not be pleased that Veronica was here – he had been very clear that 5’1 girls should avoid tweakers wherever possible. In the middle of the day in a professional setting, Veronica decided to chance it anyway – she needed to know what Casey was doing with Javier Corvus.  
“I guess some styling,” Veronica said, making an excuse to be around Casey and maybe put her at ease. “Some length and waviness, maybe a couple of lowlights.” Veronica’s cornsilk hair was normally as straight as the onscreen persona of a ‘50’s sit-com dad – she’d been experimenting with some curl in college, but had let it go straight at the end of the semester after Logan broke up with her. The idea of giving it a bit of style for the new semester actually sounded pretty appealing.  
“Trying to look nice for a special fella?” Casey asked.  
Veronica needed to get information from this woman, so tried to keep up friendly appearances, but the thought of Logan Echolls made Veronica’s heart fall. “Just broke up actually...” Veronica admitted with more sadness than she had intended to show.  
“Good for you,” Casey said, still upbeat, but now with a bit of fighting spirit. “Nothing to make you feel better about a breakup than a good makeover. Make him jealous next time he sees you.”  
The remark brought a ghost of a smile to Veronica’s face. “You’ll have a pretty easy job then - it doesn’t take much to make Logan jealous.”  
Casey mimed holding up an imaginary champagne flute in toast. “To the downfall of our enemies,” Casey saluted. That remark made Veronica crack a real smile and a small laugh. Veronica obliged the hairstylist by completing the toast with her own imaginary glass before sitting in the styling chair. Despite everything, Veronica was really starting to like Casey.  
Casey had settled a purple smock over Veronica and was starting to trim the ends of her hair when Veronica had a sudden realization.  
“Oh, shit. You’re pregnant,” Veronica said aloud.  
Casey’s face paled in the styling mirror, the blood rushing from her face and highlighting the makeup covering her meth scars. Belatedly, Veronica realized that shocking a desperate addict holding sharp scissors behind you may not be the best tactic. Veronica swallowed her nerves and kept her face a calm mask.  
Through her surprise, Casey asked in a rapt whisper, “who the hell are you!?”  
Veronica stared intently through the mirror at the sharp metal aimed at her back. “My name is Veronica Mars - I’m a friend of Eli Navarro’s.” When the name brought no recognition to Casey, Veronica went on. “I think you may have a parole officer in common.”  
Casey blanched for a second time, now turning and sitting in the chair vacated by the Cosmo reader. Veronica breathed a silent sigh of relief and gave the woman a moment to compose herself. Coming to talk with Casey directly seemed to have been the right choice - whatever else was going on with her life, Casey’s reaction to a threat was to run away, not stab it dead.  
After some color returned to Casey’s face, she came back to Veronica on shaky legs. “So, Veronica Mars, did your friend tell you about my condition?”  
“No,” Veronica replied, keeping her voice calm and soothing as she answered. “Your nails did.”  
“My nails?”  
“You’ve chewed them to pieces trying to avoid the chalk, which you clearly haven’t used in a bit. Shaky, distracted, not paying attention. You walked right past me at the Camelot and didn’t notice a thing. But you haven’t used polish remover to scrape off the last bits even though your nails must taste like ass. And then you sent Jenny to the back to do that customer’s manicure, where the fumes wouldn’t bother you, even though it probably cost you a bunch off of a nice tip from a regular.”  
“Hunh,” Casey grunted. “Well, someone’s got their eyes open. Jenny will still give me an ok split. She knows why I asked her to do nails - the people here look after each other.”  
Casey took a deep breath, and her story gushed out of her. She had been keeping it in so long, it was like a dam had broken and the cathartic truth flooded out. “I got nailed driving getaway for my guy about a year back. It was a stupid ass thing to do, but we had two kids at home and we couldn’t afford milk and diapers. Roarke convinced me it was for the kids, just this one time - nobody would get hurt and we would have enough to get by until things turned around.” Casey sighed. “Nobody got hurt at least. But all it did was get me tangled up the shit decision to rob a pharmacy. A pharmacy! And we didn’t even go for the meds - he just wanted the cash, diapers, and formula. I have to say, we were pretty stupid ass thieves all around, and it’s not surprising we got caught. Judge seemed to have some sympathy for me - let me plea to time served so I could go back to work and taking care of the kids.  
“Little did I know, I was signing up for four years probation under Officer Rapeypants. Now I have to fuck Corvus whenever he calls. My little situation,” rubbing her belly, “comes from that fucker. Both situations, actually,” Casey added remorsefully. “He’s been pushing the glass at me, too. I was fucking clean before all this. Maybe he’s trying to keep me hooked and coming back, but I think it’s to make sure I don’t turn him in. Ruin my credibility. I mean, who’s going to believe a fucking tweaker over an ‘officer of the law’? And I have to do what he wants, or else he’ll violate me and I’ll be in jail and away from my kids for two years.”  
“He’s already violating you,” Veronica pointed out gently.  
“You know what I fucking mean! He’ll say I violated my parole. What the fuck do you know about it?” Casey asked with anger in her voice, then checking to see if Jenny and the customer heard the venomous comment in the back.  
“I know you’re not the only one he’s taking advantage of,” Veronica said calmly, still trying to soothe the jangled nerves of the pregnant addict. “You may be getting the worst of it, but you’re not alone. He’s stealing from a liquor store, and he’s trying to railroad my friend. And I think I can help. If you’ll work with me.”  
“And why should I trust you?” Casey asked.  
“I know what it’s like to have someone try to take your life from you,” Veronica replied. “If you want it back, you have to fight for it.”  
Casey wavered but didn’t look entirely convinced.  
“It’s the only way to be sure you stay with your kids,” Veronica pointed out. “He’ll always be a threat otherwise. And pushing meth on you can’t be good for the new one.” For whatever reason, Casey hadn’t seemed willing to terminate the pregnancy thus far, even though it would make her life a lot easier. It seemed likely she wanted to keep it, despite the ignominy of its conception.  
The thought of losing her kids broke Casey, who started crying - slowly at first and then fat, drippy tears raining onto Veronica’s smock. The hairdresser nodded in silent but emphatic agreement.  
“To the downfall of our enemies,” Veronica toasted. “And may the unjust feast on the crows,” Veronica intoned in an inversion on the usual phrase.  
Casey managed to laugh and cry at the same time, before wiping her nose with her sleeve and choking out a hopeful chord. “To the downfall of our enemies.”


	12. Chapter 12

Veronica walked into the Hearst commons for a morning debrief with the Penney case squad. Her meeting with Casey Smart the afternoon before had given her a plan for getting both Casey and Weevil out from under Corvus - in Casey’s situation, literally. The hairdresser had to do most of the heavy lifting that afternoon, but Veronica wanted to be nearby in case things went south.  
Veronica saw the three teens at what had become their usual table. Wallace and Debra were talking about something animatedly, while Mac had her computer open and followed along, a clear third wheel despite Debra and Wallace’s attempts to engage her.  
“Veronica!” Mac yelled from across the atrium, clearly looking for someone she could talk to.  
“... so Mac, get this - then he actually fell for the hidden ball trick!” Debra exclaimed. “You should have seen the dumb look on his face when the practice squad forward scored an easy bucket! He never saw Wallace’s smooth pass, so he’s just standing there with his mouth hanging open, looking between Wallace and the forward, still wondering what the hell happened while the rest of the varsity team is inbounding the ball. And then Wallace just stole the ball! Guy is still standing there, flatfooted, while Fennel makes the layup. It was glorious!”  
Wallace didn’t attempt any false modesty, his ready smile beaming. “In all fairness to the rest of the team, he was standing right in front of me - they thought I was being guarded.”  
“Why are you still on practice squad?” Debra asked. “You ran circles around the varsity yesterday.”  
“It’s a team, Debra,” Wallace explained earnestly, without condescension. “They don’t need someone who can run circles around them, they need someone who can work with them. Point guard more than anywhere else, the team needs to know where to go and what to expect.”  
“Hey guys,” Veronica announced when she arrived at the table. “What’d I miss?”  
“Debra sat in on the basketball practice yesterday,” Mac described, trying to hide her lack of enthusiasm. “She was giving me the play-by-play.”  
“That wasn’t even the best part!” Debra chimed in. “We hit the touristy stuff in LA after practice. Look who we saw!” Debra added with evident excitement, showing Veronica a picture on her camera phone.  
Mac looked over Veronica’s shoulder at the picture, trying to make out who it was. “Is that a movie star?” Mac asked.  
“Nah,” Veronica remarked offhandedly. “That’s just Ted Danson.” Veronica handed the phone to Mac so she could get a better look. “Well, it seems like you two have been keeping busy. How did the trip to the DMV go?”  
Debra beamed, pulling out her new California driver’s license. “The hardest part was waiting in line,” the cheerleader reported.  
“Nice,” Veronica commented. “Mac, how about you? The credit reports look good now? Any luck planting that virus?”  
“Ummm… yes and no.” Mac answered, giving Debra her phone back. “Credit reports should be updated by tomorrow – I had to wait until the DMV info was searchable and it takes some time for the agencies to update. I still have no idea how we’re going to change any Indiana records – they’re not easy to access, but that means they’re also really hard to alter. I’m not sure we can pull off making Debra seem 17 for more than a few days before Indiana corrects the California DMV ‘typo.’  
“I got the virus on Debra’s video stored on the FTP server, as well as the other folders Veronica cracked the password on. I also have permanent access to Callie’s computer now, wherever she is, but no luck getting onto Marshall Vesta’s machine. However, I’ve also found a new … issue on Callie’s computer,” Mac said with uncharacteristic nervousness.  
“What issue?” Veronica asked curiously. “Is Vesta on his way here?”  
“No. Well, actually, yes, he’s flying into LAX tomorrow afternoon, but that’s not the issue I was thinking of.” At this announcement, Debra’s easygoing manner evaporated, her spine going ramrod straight. It wasn’t lost on Veronica that Debra reached out to grab Wallace’s hand upon hearing of the cult leader’s impending arrival.  
“I..” Mac continued, “I found Callie Beck looking into Javier Corvus on her computer yesterday. As much as she could find.”  
“Who is Javier Corvus?” Debra asked confused. “Is he part of XKSXS?”  
“I don’t know what their connection is,” Mac said with some frustration. “Corvus is a local parole officer – I’d never even heard of him before Veronica asked me to research him. There was nothing I saw on the FTP server or Callie’s computer before yesterday that I could find.”  
Veronica got a sinking feeling in her stomach. She immediately grabbed Debra’s phone off the table and rammed her thumb down on the power button, then ripped the battery out. Veronica directly proceeded to do the same with her phone right after. “Everyone! Phones off! Now!” Veronica commanded before tearing the battery out of her phone.  
Confounded, Mac and Wallace also took out their phones, mashing the off buttons until the screens went blank and dead, wrenching out the batteries for good measure. Veronica watched as each phone was opened to ensure there were no foreign devices within.  
“What’s going on?” Debra asked.  
“Callie was listening in on my call to Mac yesterday,” Veronica explained. “It’s the only way she would have heard of Corvus. They don’t have anything in common except me. It’s unlikely that Callie is using our phones as listening devices, but the only way to be sure is to turn them off. It doesn’t look like anyone had a physical bug in their phone, even me or Mac. Mac, where were you yesterday when I called?”  
“I was at the Hearst ResNet office, stuck doing office hours,” the programmer answered.  
Veronica nodded. “Ok. I’ll sweep my car for a bug, then check out your office. But both of those seem unlikely – I switched cars yesterday. Mac, what about a cell phone virus or a cell phone interceptor? You used to have one – how do they work?”  
“The cell phone interceptor was just a loan from a buddy a Radio Shack, actually,” Mac corrected. “After what I had to do to get it back, I’m not inclined to borrow equipment again. A cell phone interceptor, or IMSI catcher, has to be in close proximity to the desired cell phone for a few moments to pick up the SIM information. The interceptor then clones the SIM, and acts as a man-in-the-middle between the target cell phone and the actual cell tower, letting you listen in on any calls that phone is involved in, or text messages it sends or receives, as long as you’re in range. And you do have to be in range, generally the coverage area of a cell tower. Long distance tapping requires software installation on the phone itself, and software usually means having both physical control over the phone for a while and the phone’s PIN.”  
Veronica replayed the events of the past three days over in her head, and felt a sinking sensation in her stomach came to one depressing conclusion. She was pretty sure she knew how Callie had bugged the conversation. Veronica had failed in her promise not to underestimate the woman.  
“Callie never expected to recruit me at all,” Veronica conveyed intently, talking more to herself than to the others at the table, full of rage and disappointment at being outmanuevered. “The whole meeting by Kane software – the pocket park, the pitch to join – it was all a setup. If she could convince me, great, but Callie’s real goal was to get me close enough to pair my phone with the interceptor, so she could listen in to my calls. And I played right into it.”   
“So…” Debra asked, her previous hopelessness on the verge of returning despite her obvious attempts to war against it, “what do we do now? If we can’t change Indiana records, my California license is going to switch back in a few days, Callie is listening on our calls, and Vesta is coming – what? Am I just stuck?” Debra’s dolor was replaced with a burgeoning righteous fury, her ruddy cheeks flushing red, “because I am not doing anything else for them again. They can release that video. They can make me a laughingstock. I don’t damn care – I am not going with them!”   
Mac was roused by the Debra’s determination. “The line must be drawn here!” Mac exclaimed. “This far, no further!”  
“Nice one, Mac,” Veronica acknowledged, “but I don’t think we have to abandon ship just yet. I have an idea. Mac, do you think you could pick up a burner phone with a DC or Virginia area code?”  
“Yeah,” Mac agreed, “phone companies just assign the area codes that you ask for at this point. I should be able to get something by tomorrow.”  
“Perfect, I want to wait until the credit agencies have deleted everything anyway,” Veronica approved confidently. “Debra, how do you feel about doing a little acting project for me?”  
At this, the cheerleader’s tense nervousness and rage broke and burst forth in gales of laughter. Debra laughed and laughed until her eyes watered. Intentionally mirroring the thoughts she had just before following Callie Beck into this horrible week, Debra chuckled darkly, “yeah, why not? What could possibly go wrong?”

…

The crew was getting ready to break and go their separate ways when Wallace took Veronica aside. They walked a short distance in the empty atrium, Wallace’s voice a nervous intent hush, to keep from being overheard by Mac and Debra.  
“Hey. Veronica. Can I ask you something?”  
Veronica matched his volume, but tried to keep her manner easy and calming. Wallace had obviously been helping Debra out – when Veronica had first arrived, she never would have guessed what Debra had been through at the beginning of the week. He was good that way, a team player on and off the court. “Yeah, sure thing, Wallace. How’s Debra holding up?”  
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to ask you about,” Wallace spoke softly, shifting his weight back and forth before asking awkwardly, “how weird would it be for me to hook up with Debra while you’re rescuing her from the crazy motivational speaking cult?”  
Veronica narrowed her eyes just shy of an accusation. She had thought better of Wallace Fennel, and answered in a hard tone. “Umm... a little weird. That’s actually kind of creepy. I think you can refrain from hitting on a girl when her life is falling apart.”  
Wallace shook his head emphatically. “No, no, no. It’s not like that. At all. She’s great, but I totally didn’t make any moves. We just talked, hung out. Then, uhh, then she kind of kissed me. For real. Bold as you please, one of those serious long ones, too. I didn’t know what to do, but today things still seem … normal? I ... was hoping for a lady’s perspective on this.”  
“What, am I my sister’s keeper?” Veronica asked. “She might just be trying to reassert control over her life, including her sex life - do things she normally wouldn’t. From what I gathered, ‘bold’ and ‘unembarassed’ weren’t usually in her repertoire before. If she’s making moves, that’s on her - she knows what she wants. Let her decide stuff, build herself up - she might push some boundaries. My friendly advice? If you find her attractive and want to take it slow, tell her so. Be supportive and don’t go past what you can see on late-night HBO until after we get this thing resolved. Save something for the victory celebration, and make sure she doesn’t cross that line without meaning it.”  
“You sure this is ok?” Wallace questioned uncertainly.  
“Of course not,” Veronica replied. “You should talk to her about this. She’s the only one who can answer for herself. I will say this - after what she’s been through this past week, the simple act of asking her is going to mean a lot.”


	13. Chapter 13

Casey Smart waited nervously in her room at the Camelot Motel, staring at the water-stained walls beyond the surely-stained sheets upon which she sat, near the rear of a too-often used bed. The afternoon light hatched into the dingy room – the blinds dangling open with their mocking shadows mimicking the jail cell where this nightmare had all started. Everything in the room was beige, dark, and twilit, but seemed too bright every time Casey rubbed her eyes and the world flashed in retinal flares, leaving a glowing halo around the closet door and, beyond it, the front entrance.  
Casey bounced her leg constantly, attempting to work off the anxious energy she felt mounting within her. Normally, the nerves came like a mounting tide as Casey felt withdrawal – coming and going in waves, but always building, always getting stronger. This time, though, the customary shakes were swamped by the tsunami of apprehension over what Casey was planning to do. Even if everything went perfectly, if someone found out she was hooked, she might lose her kids. But if she did nothing, she might lose them anyway, and the little one growing inside would surely die if Corvus kept pushing his junk at her. Kept pushing the drugs too.  
There were no good choices here. Just less bad ones. So Casey kept bouncing her knee and sucked the blood off of an offending cuticle that had managed to send a pain signal strong enough that it still registered through all the nervousness. The iron tang and shot of agony actually helped Casey focus a bit, helped her get past another 15 seconds. And then she stared at the wall again, thinking of her kids at home.  
Casey thought back to her brief stint in jail, and wondered for the thousandth time if maybe she shouldn’t have taken that plea deal. “Sentenced to time served” had sounded an awful lot like “free to go.” She had two kids to look after. The neighbors had about hit their limit – any longer the boys might have gone to CPS never to be seen again. Just having a trial would have taken months. Months with no work. Months the kids needed to be looked after. Casey had to come back.  
But Casey wasn’t free. She wasn’t free from her asshole P.O., and the system she found herself stuck in, without knowing what she had signed up for. She wasn’t free from her body, used and abused by Corvus, and now stuck carrying his seed. She’d been sick as a dog for the last three months each of the last two pregnancies, and the process of giving birth had been … arduous. But it had been worth it to have Roarke’s babies. Despite the miracle growing inside her, Casey wasn’t looking forward to going through that again for Corvus.  
And now Casey’s body betrayed her in one more way, the pangs of withdrawal mounting even as Casey bit down on the remnants of a nail, then spitting out a sliver of nail polish. Veronica had been right – it tasted like ass. But Casey had been clean a full week, despite Corvus’ insistence. She’d begged off. She said her boss was giving her a drug test. When all else failed, she’d sidetracked him with more sex than he knew what to do with - things she wouldn’t normally do, but anything to keep Corvus distracted, to give her freedom in this one thing. Sex was the one weapon that could work with any reliability, and she’d been clean a full week because of it. Ever since she got the positive pregnancy test. After a week, the worst of the withdrawal was over, but it still ate at her constantly. For the sake of the baby, she was sure she could make another eight months. Beyond that, Casey had hope and faith. They hadn’t gotten her out of any trouble in this life, but they had made it so she hadn’t faced more than she could bear. She hoped she had kicked the meth habit permanently. The thought that Corvus had put this evil inside her permanently was too much to think upon. But right now, she had a blessing as well, and one that needed protecting.  
It’s just as well Corvus was so oblivious to Casey’s needs, or else he might have noticed that she had skipped her period.  
Casey sucked on a new finger – the bottom of a pinky. Hard to reach – practically virgin territory. Casey was on borrowed time. One way or another, Corvus would get her. He wouldn’t be distracted with sex forever and he’d make her take the crystal. Best case, she did what she had to for three months before she started to show, and then Corvus would just kill her. Casey knew it. He wouldn’t be the kind to pay child support, and P.O./parolee sex was strictly forbidden. He’d lose his job. His connections. No way could he let that baby be born. No way that a parolee could run away without being thrown in jail, either. Maybe Corvus’d just beat her until she miscarried, but losing this unexpected miracle would kill her all the same. Any beating that bad and Casey would have to sit out work. Sitting out work meant sending Roarke’s boys away just so they could eat. Body broken, no baby, no kids, no work – Casey didn’t think she could go on living. Her kids were everything.  
And then, while Casey was keeping up appearances and hanging by a thread, Veronica Mars had walked into her life and gave a ray of hope. Maybe Casey didn’t have to die in three months. Maybe she could stay clean. Maybe she could keep her kids. Maybe she could live.  
Casey spit out another piece of ass-tasting nail polish.  
Casey’s nervous thoughts took about ten minutes, as she waited in the darkened motel, but those ten minutes were an eternity. Then Javier Corvus, dressed in black, of course, entered the room.  
“You look like you’ve got a lot of thoughts under all that hair today,” Corvus said in his smooth baritone. The P.O. was a handsome enough man, if you didn’t know him – why couldn’t he find a real person to have sex with?  
“I’m done,” Casey said. “No sex today. Never again.” And as simple as that, Casey felt like a human again.  
Corvus sneered in disgust as he took off the Aviators, revealing eyes flashing in frustrated anger. Before meeting Corvus, Casey Smart hadn’t known it was possible for a man to have irises so black. “You might want to rethink that,” Corvus stated, his voice flat but his frustration still evident. “You know what holding out will cost you? I’ve got filing cabinets full of girls to choose from, but you only have one chance to keep your job and your kids.”  
Corvus’ nostrils flared as he took a calming breath and mastered control of himself. Once he was in charge of himself, his adopted a honey-toned conciliatory manner, like he hadn’t just threatened to throw Casey in jail. “It doesn’t have to be so bad. This last week has been really good for you and me, hasn’t it? You go along, we get along, right? I thought things were starting to click. I was even going to make sure you got a little extra cash. Just some generous tips from customers at the salon, nothing suspicious. Help out with the boys. Get that computer you were looking at. But that’s only if we’re in this together. We’re in this together, aren’t we?”  
“No,” Casey repeated. “I’m done. No sex today. Never again.” It had become a mantra to the hairstylist. Repetition in her mind had given it power. Now she had unleashed this idea upon the world.  
This time the P.O. flushed in actual anger. It wasn’t often that something he wanted was denied to him. “Fine! Enjoy prison. You can go down on some bitches while your kids live in a shelter. If I hear a peep of my name in anything, Sheriff Lamb will find so much meth at your place you’ll never see your grandkids.”  
“Lamb would set me up?” Casey asked. “I don’t believe you.”  
“Lamb wouldn’t set you up, you dumb bitch,” Corvus roared. “Lamb hasn’t got the brains to know the difference between a setup and a bust. I tell him the junk is yours, he believes me. Where did you get it? Damned if he knows, damned if he cares - but your poor ass is in jail ‘til your tits fall off just the same.”  
“I’m clean now,” Casey said. Keeping to short sentences was helpful. It let Casey keep her focus. Keep from rambling on or losing her nerve. “You can’t push any more of that stuff on me. And they won’t believe I have that much drugs if I’m clean.”  
Corvus just stared at her contemptuously. “You took the drugs. I made sure you were on it long enough, they’ll believe you’re capable of anything. You really think they’ll care that you’re clean now?” Corvus was clearly done, turning around to leave the motel room and find his next victim when Casey hit him with everything she had.  
“I’m pregnant.”  
Even from behind, Casey could see the P.O. flush in anger. Where before he had been frustrated, or petulant, or annoyed, the back of Corvus’ neck now pulsed blood red in pure rage. She could only imagine the rictus of ire his face had contorted itself into, but when he turned and lunged for Casey she no longer had to imagine. Corvus rushed for her, his knees hitting the front of the bed as he climbed atop the mattress to get at Casey. She had been right – there was no way he would let that baby be born. He would beat its life from her body, if he had any say in the matter.  
Arm outstretched towards Casey Smart in fury and desperation, Javier Corvus’ black eyes widened as far as they would go and his body locked solid, shaking in mute agony. A distinct rapid-fire clicking noise came from behind the P.O. as a small blond figure stood behind him, framed by the open closet from which she had emerged.  
“Get away from her, you bitch!” Veronica exclaimed as she continued jamming the stun gun into the corrupt man. Mr. Zappy wasn’t as impressive as a pneumatic construction chassis, but it got the job done - Corvus lay facedown on the bed, incapacitated. With Casey’s help, Veronica flipped him onto his back, zapped him once more for good measure, and handcuffed each of his wrists to the headboard. Looking around, she saw that the high definition video camera in the closet had been knocked off its tripod in the commotion, so Veronica went to check on it. The camera was fine – it had certainly done its job.  
Corvus rattled against the handcuffs stretching each of his arms over his head. The Camelot had convenient, sturdy, open headboards for just this purpose, though the idea was probably intended for consensual handcuffing. What a difference consent makes.  
“Let me go!” Corvus shouted. “You can’t lock me up like this!”  
“I think you can use the practice,” Veronica retorted. “You’re going to have to get used to being locked up. That’s usually what we do to rapists and drug dealers. You might want to just, y’know, lay back and enjoy this. It’s probably the best place for a good night’s sleep you’ll get for a while – I’ve heard being a crooked parole officer in prison can be hazardous to your health. Worse than smoking, even.”  
“Screw you!” Corvus retorted. “It’s your word against mine, and she has zero credibility.”  
“Don’t think I didn’t see your trick, making Casey here unstable and then using that very instability to discredit her,” Veronica replied stonily. Waving the camera at him, she added, “I don’t think it’s going to work this time, though. Plus, I have a feeling she’ll start to show by the time you get to trial.”  
“You think a tape will save you?” Corvus sneered. He looked Veronica up and down, recognition lighting in his eyes. “I know you – you’re the Mars brat. The one who called out Aaron Echolls. You had a tape of him too – how’d that work out?”  
Veronica flushed in embarrassment – the only copy of the incriminating tape in the Aaron Echolls case had been stolen from the evidence locker and he had been acquitted.  
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Corvus retorted. “As long as Don Lamb is Sheriff, anything you give him may as well go up in smoke. You can’t do shit to me.”  
Casey Smart’s face paled and she sat on the only available flat surface, the floor. Looking like a marionette whose strings were cut – it had all been for nothing. The tape didn’t mean anything.  
But Veronica just looked at Corvus and laughed, a full-throated gleeful thing like he’d said the funniest thing in the world.  
“Casey, are you ok?” Veronica asked, rubbing the distraught woman’s back. “It’ll be fine. He’s _lying_. Just because he says something doesn’t make it so. He wants the tape to disappear, but the only way that happens is if you let his words have power over you. We just make a million copies of this thing, and save them up – one for you, one for Weevil, one for me, one for the judge, one directly to the D.A. I’ll deliver one to Sheriff Lamb personally – I really want to see the look on his face when he watches his best friend call him a moron. We’ll make a show of it – get the whole department to watch the premiere screening. See how much cover Corvus gets after that. Hell, we can send a copy to TMZ if you want.”  
It slowly dawned on Casey that Veronica was right. What Casey had done mattered. And she didn’t have to listen to what Corvus had to say.  
She was free.


	14. Chapter 14

“Agent Morris speaking,” the stern female voice with a slight Texas twang announced from the other side of Veronica’s phone. “Who is this?”  
“Agent Morris,” Veronica started. “You may not remember me – my name is Veronica Mars.”  
What sounded like a muffled strangle came from the other side of the phone. “Duncan Kane’s girlfriend,” the FBI agent choked. “So, have you decided to turn yourself in as an accessory to the kidnapping of Faith Manning and tell me where your boyfriend is?”  
“Ex-boyfriend,” Veronica corrected tartly. “We broke up before he left, if you recall, and no – I haven’t seen or heard from him since. I’m calling because I found something you may be interested in. What’s the FBI’s view on underage pornography these days?”  
Agent Morris answered in a no-nonsense, tough-as-nails tone that showed impatience with anything that was wasting time. “You know full well what we think of it, or else you wouldn’t have called. You don’t want to know how many of my missing persons cases turn into human trafficking cases. I know you think you’re clever, that you’re the one that got away. But that billionaire boy who took his daughter because he loves her and will take care of her? That’s not the case I lose sleep over. The eleven-year-old girl plucked off the street walking to the school bus in Tahoe fifteen years ago? If you have information on the son of a bitch that did that, you’re my new best friend.”  
“Well, I don’t know if they’re holding Jaycee Dugard, but have you heard of XKSXS?”  
“Marshall Vesta?” the agent asked, for the first time sounding interested. “Yeah, we know Vesta. Lots of rumblings and unhappy relatives, but all adults and nothing we could get a warrant for.”  
“What if my 17-year-old client came forward and told you that Callie Beck had a digital pornographic video of her, which she displayed at Vesta’s new house in Neptune, CA? Would that be enough to get you a warrant to search Callie and Vesta’s computers, and any XSX servers?”  
“17 you say?” Morris asked bluntly.  
“I’ll text you a copy of her birth certificate now,” Veronica replied, texting the preset image of Debra’s doctored birth certificate from the Registrar. “Check her California driver’s license or the Hearst college registrar if you want – she turns 18 next week.”  
“Ok, and she’ll testify? Before a judge?” the agent asked brusquely. “Doesn’t need to be open court, but we’ll need testimony to get a warrant.”  
“Just tell us where – we can be in San Diego, Santa Ana, or LA federal court in a matter of hours.”  
“LA,” the businesslike woman answered tersely. “Judges are faster, at least for something like this. Nobody like child porn. ACLU will defend Nazis and avowed terrorists in court, and even they won’t touch this with a 10-foot pole.” The woman on the phone then started giving a rapid fire summary of the plan. “I’ll fly up to New York and call into court from there, en route to Vesta’s HQ. Once we get that warrant, we’ll hit them like the wrath of god on both coasts - if there’s a single topless pic of your girl I will gleefully comb through Vesta’s life until I dismantle the perverted extortionist’s entire organization.”  
Veronica Mars gleamed a wide smile and exulted to the woman on the other side of the phone, “Perfect. That’s just what I wanted to hear. We’ll go to the LA Federal Courthouse right away.”

…

As Veronica walked with Debra up the broad white stairs of the blocky tiered rectangular building on LA’s Spring Street, they saw two figures blocking the way into the courthouse. The slight blond figure of Callie Beck stood next to an imposing, stocky man that seemed to exude charisma despite his lack of hair. The man, certainly Vesta himself, looked like Stanley Tucci’s character from Road to Perdition, only with a shaved head and more brawn. The magnetic speaker looked to be in his late 40’s or early 50’s, old enough to be Callie’s father.  
Veronica kept her face professional and didn’t give any hint that she was surprised at this meeting on the courthouse steps. “So,” Veronica remarked. “Here to keep us from testifying? Give me the hard sell one last time?”  
“Yes and no,” Callie rejoined. “We were on our way to Neptune when a friend of ours at the FBI told us about your call. We have friends everywhere, and they gave us a head’s up about your little whistleblowing.” It was unsurprising that Callie didn’t want to reveal her methods in finding out about the call. Having a plant in the FBI sounded far more impressive than getting Pretty Woman to follow Veronica from a distance with a cell phone interceptor. Callie wouldn’t want to tip her hand on a potentially useful surveillance tool in the future - Veronica would have done the same in her place.  
“So,” Callie said, addressing Debra, “saved by a technicality - lucky Penney. We’ve already deleted every copy of that video - the FBI isn’t going to find anything. We wanted to let you know as a courtesy – we don’t want you to be too disappointed when the warrant turns up nothing.”  
Turning to Veronica, Callie stepped down the stairs to be level with the diminutive detective. “I wanted you to know, Veronica, because I still believe you belong with us. We have the resources you lack – we respect you, and our door will always be open to you. So, not the hard sell, and definitely not the last you’ll hear of us.”  
Veronica looked at her chiral lookalike and agreed. “You’re right Callie. I’m definitely not done with you yet. Unfortunately, it may have to be a long distance relationship. Debra, would you do the honors?”  
Debra not-so-gently thrust a thick, sealed white envelope to the blond actress, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. Callie began to try working the envelope open, only to discover it hadn’t merely been sealed, but was glued shut. With a broad smile, Debra handed the cult lieutenant a set of pink needle-nosed pliers. “Here,” she added with dark satisfaction. “use the pliers. It’ll open right up.”  
As Callie used the pliers as a makeshift letter opener, tearing the heavy paper, Veronica announced, “you’ve been served.”  
Quickly scanning the official-looking documents inside the envelope, Callie Beck was flabbergasted. “You _seized _the mansion in Neptune?”  
“_Carpe diem_. Seize the day,” Veronica replied philosophically. “I heard you had all these resources you wanted to share with me - what’s a mansion or two between friends?”  
Frustrated, Callie threw the official notice of seizure from Neptune County, the balled-up heavy paper bouncing, crumpled on the courthouse steps. Callie stormed up to where Marshall Vesta waited, falling into his arms and beginning an unnecessary long and wet public display of affection. The prolonged French kiss gravitated to unsubtle public fondling - a display that was clearly intended to make Veronica sad and lonely at her own recent breakup. Callie’s kiss with the older man did something unexpected instead. Veronica felt sad … for Callie. Callie, the woman who had sexually abused Debra, who had threatened her with branding and public humiliation, who had done who-knew-what to countless women, and had traded quips and snoops with Veronica as nobody had before, was doing this. Debasing herself for a man old enough to be her father, who clearly withheld his respect, just to get Veronica to join with her. All this so Callie wouldn’t be alone. It didn’t mitigate an iota of the horrible things Callie had done or would do, but Veronica realized that Callie was victim too.  
Callie had crossed a line so long ago it was lost in the distance. But in that moment, if Veronica had known how to save Callie Beck from Marshall Vesta, she would have done so in a heartbeat.

…

Veronica drove Keith’s old sedan down the Pacific Coast Highway, back towards Neptune with Debra Penney crowing victory in the passenger seat.  
“Maybe you should go into acting,” Debra cheered. “That was amazing! ‘What’s a mansion or two between friends?’ Ha! The look on her face when she opened that letter was worth the trip to LA all on its own.”  
“Me? How about you?” Veronica replied. “I’ve met Morris, and you sounded more like Morris than she did. ‘We’ll hit them like the wrath of god on both coasts?’ Jaycee Dugard gives you nightmares, but you’re so hard-bitten it still comes out in the machine gun rattle of the efficient G-man? You had me convinced, and I knew it was you on the other end of the line.”  
Debra made an elaborate theatrical bow of appreciation. “How long do you think before they realize you stole Matt Damon’s trick from The Rainmaker and didn’t actually call the FBI?”  
“I prefer not to think of it as stealing, but as effective use of a relevant cultural reference,” Veronica replied. “I give it until about tomorrow morning, but it’ll be too late by then. Mac said they were thorough in their deletion – Callie slagged the entire FTP server and reformatted her computer shortly after we finished our call. They won’t have backups, and, like George Burns, you can go back to being 18 again. For the next few days until your birthday, anyway.”  
“And the house?” Debra asked. “How long before they figure out that was a fake, too?”  
Veronica gave a Cheshire grin. “That? That was real. As soon as I deliver the proof of service of process, Callie Beck is officially kicked out of Neptune.”

…

Veronica walked into the office of the Balboa County Commissioner’s office. The office, colloquially referred to as the “mayor” of Neptune, had gone through some tumultuous times, now holding its third occupant in as many years, and the first halfway decent civil servant. Gordon Helvering sat behind his desk, his unkempt black hair highlighting the pallid skin of a man who spent little time in the sun – an oddity for Southern California. The man slid his wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking more like an overworked accountant or professor than the premiere politician in Neptune. It was unsurprising – before stepping into the suddenly-vacant post of County Commissioner, Helvering had been the long-tenured and much-forgotten County Comptroller, a position so boring that people had overlooked that it also doubled as first in line of succession for the Commissioner’s seat. After the death of freewheeling billionaire pedophile Woody Goodman, due in no small part to Veronica exposing the “pedophile” part, the sober bureaucrat was a welcome change of pace.  
“Evening Commissioner,” Veronica drawled as she walked up to Gordon. “Here’s that proof of service for the Vesta mansion you asked for. Not that I don’t appreciate the favor, but are you sure you can get away with just claiming a mansion on behalf of the county?”  
The mayor looked up at Veronica, standing next to his paper-strewn desk, then at the notarized paper she had handed him. Clearing his throat, he assumed the pedantic tone Veronica had come to associate as Helvering’s normal lecturing voice.  
“Actually, so far we’re only enjoining use of the new compound while the matter of ‘coercion’ in the property transfer is investigated,” Commissioner Helvering explained. “It’s a jurisdictional nightmare. Actual transfer of the property occurred in upstate New York, but all land transfers within Balboa County are recorded here, and arguably we should have primacy since it’s our land.” The commissioner smiled the wicked and benignly self-satisfied grin of someone who had just pulled off a particularly clever move in a board game. “At this point, the property is forced to remain vacant until such time as Sheriff Lamb completes a thorough investigation into the circumstances of the land transfer.”  
“Wait, it just sits there until _Lamb _finishes his investigation?” Veronica asked incredulously. “Don’t hold your breath!”  
Commissioner Helvering kept his smirk. “Indeed.” Her estimation of the quiet man behind the desk rose – she hadn’t thought it was possible, but somehow he had made Lamb’s incompetence and laziness work in favor of justice for once.  
“I must admit, Miss Mars, my motives were not entirely altruistic,” the haphazard professor in charge the county confided. “Or, actually, altruistic at all. Vesta had filed paperwork claiming that he’s running a church out of the mansion and that he’s exempt from property tax - I’m ecstatic to have an excuse to kick him out. And since he had the poor taste to take advantage of one of Neptune’s wealthy elite when he swindled the property in the first place, I’ll even score points with the resident oligarchs. We have strict rules about that sort of thing here – the rich don’t victimize each other. _Corvus oculum corvi non eruit._“  
“Speaking of crows,” Veronica mentioned. “You should know what went down with a parole officer yesterday.” Veronica gave a brief overview of Javier Corvus’ exploits, and the scandal that was sure to ensue. Unsurprisingly, Lamb had locked up his former friend with minimum fanfare, to hide Sheriff Lamb’s prior incompetence and close personal connection with a criminal. It was one of the few times Veronica’s interests aligned with the bumbling Sheriff - Casey had asked Veronica to keep this to minimal publicity as well, fearing retribution by the next P.O. or losing her kids.  
“Hmm,” Helvering grunted in disappointment. “Well, Corvus is a state employee - not much we at County could have done anyway, but I appreciate the head’s up. Ever since you and your father got me this cursed position, I’ve felt like I owe you. Whether I owe you praise or punishment, I still haven’t figured out. If the Sheriff’s position ever opens up, I’ll be sure to return the favor by giving your father that equally thankless task.”  
“Thanks,” Veronica said. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. Hey – if you can’t affect state offices, how did you swing getting the state DMV to issue Debra’s license with a typo?”  
“Well,” Gordon admitted. “The DMV is housed in a county building. And my cousin is the supervisor. As FDR once said - in politics, it’s not who you know, it’s who you’re related to.”  
“FDR never said that,” Veronica pointed out, which Gordon acknowledged with equanimity. Veronica asked curiously, “I don’t suppose you’ve got an uncle at the FBI who’d look at the anonymous tip my friend sent about XKSXS? It wasn’t obtained exactly... legally, so an anonymous tip was the best we could do.”  
“Sorry, Veronica - I don’t really swim in those waters,” the county commissioner admitted. “At this point I think you know more people at the FBI than I do.” Looking at Veronica seriously, the professorial bureaucrat asked, “So has Miss Penney been able to successfully extricate herself from Vesta’s groping clutches?”  
“Yeah,” Veronica admitted. “She got away clean.”  
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t seem terribly happy about this turn of events,” Gordon pointed out. “That’s a clear win. We do what we can. Even as we speak, the Commissioner’s powers are circumscribed, sliced up and divvied out to the Chamber of Commerce. After the last two mayors, I can hardly blame them. Doing my small part in this might convince them of my value, keep the COC from leaving me completely toothless, but I’m just glad I was able to do what I could here. Don’t take a win for granted, Veronica. Next time we might not be so lucky.”  
“But, that’s just it,” Veronica vented. “There’s going to be a next time. We didn’t catch them. They got away. Vesta and Callie Beck are still out there, and they can get other girls.”  
The man who was supposedly the most powerful politician in Neptune looked at Veronica Mars with impotent grief. “Veronica. You of all people should know how it is. Sometimes, the rich and powerful get away with it. Sometimes, it’s like the rules simply don’t apply to them.”


	15. Afterword

I wanted to play with the idea of a nemesis for Veronica, someone with a similar skill set and physical appearance, but a diametrically opposed goal. Veronica uses psychology, background research, attention to detail, extreme intelligence, and a cavalier attitude towards rules to help people – at her best she addresses larger socioeconomic and gender issues. Veronica has a loving, healthy, and supportive relationship with her father. Therefore, for Veronica’s nemesis, I wanted someone who also used psychology, background research, attention to detail, extreme intelligence, and a cavalier attitude towards rules to entrap people into social and sexual powerlessness. They also have similar appearances and common methods, such as the hidden camera trick, or cleverly planting surveillance devices. However, Callie has an unhealthy relationship with what is cast as a father-type figure in Marshall Vesta. If not for Keith Mars’ support and a twist of timing, Veronica could be Callie. The naming of the villains is intentional – Marshall Vesta being a near-literal flip of Veronica Mars’ name, and the reference to the Roman god of virginity is in line with previous Veronica Mars conventions.  
The use of Aquaman seemed appropriate for a story taking place in Neptune (several Aquaman storylines involve Neptune’s Greek counterpart Poseidon), and the use of comics and superheroes appropriate for Veronica Mars in general.  
I had spent an unfortunately depressing time looking into subject material similar to what went on in this novella, such as Ervil Labaron and Jaycee Dugard, among others. If you read the newspapers, despite my appellation that this is “noir”, you’ll find true stories far darker than this.  
Despite the common etymology of names between Corbin Bernsen and Javier Corvus, no aspersion is intended towards the alum of LA Law, Psych, and Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang. Corvus’ name was chosen to increase the parallel to Javert, later played by Russell Crowe in the film adaptation of Les Mis, and for the impression that Javier is crow-like in his ruthless, self-interested intelligence. Corbin Bernsen’s reference was intended as a laudatory shoutout to Psych (KKBB, which he produced, gets its own shout-out later in the Veronica Mars TV show). If you can figure out how LA Law exists in the Veronica Mars world, and reconcile Harry Hamlin/Aaron Echolls, then you’re smarter than I, but I enjoyed the puzzle. In addition to being darker than Veronica Mars stories taking place earlier in the series, I attempted to make this story tap into meta references more.  
This book is intended to be able to be enjoyed on a standalone basis. It is also meant to tie in to the overall story. Some tie-ins to the overall plot are described below. Most of the backstory that occurs in the past (relative to this novella) is given context and isn’t mentioned again here. Warning, spoilers ahead.   
In the opening credits of Season 1 of the TV show, Wallace is seen scaling a stone wall, even though (as best I can tell) he didn’t do this during season 1. The scaling of the stone wall in Chapter 4, was meant to mirror this image.  
The beginning of Ep 3.10 Show Me the Monkey shows Veronica working at Mars Investigations, sorting files. The episode shows she had done some work with Keith over break and this novella is consistent with that, elaborating that the relatively broke and somewhat mercenary Veronica probably could use the money and do other jobs.  
Logan is almost completely left out of this novella. Per the timeline of the show, it is established in Ep. 3.11 Poughkeepsie, Tramps and Thieves and Ep. 3.12 There’s Got to be a Morning After Pill that Logan was probably out of jail and in Aspen with Dick (and Madison Sinclair) at the time the events of this book took place.  
Keith’s sedan is, in fact, dark, and got a star turn in Ep. 3.01 Welcome Wagon. I may have taken some dramatic flourish with “after midnight” blue, but this is noir.  
Corvus mentions that he is untouchable as long as Sheriff Lamb is in power, though Veronica calls him out as bluffing. Regardless, in Ep 3.14 Mars, Bars (occurring a couple months after the events of this novella), Don Lamb ceases to be Sheriff, removing whatever protection Corvus may have had. I have to admit, I share in Veronica’s glee at the prospect of seeing an incompetent egomaniac like Lamb struck in the place it may hurt most – the honest opinion of a supposed friend taking him to task for his failures as a sheriff.  
I had actually thought a female Mayor would make for a better story here, but the Mayor makes a call to Keith Mars in Ep 3.14 Mars, Bars. Although the Mayor is never seen, the sole detail we have is that “he” ascribes to a male pronoun. As a result, we get our third male mayor in as many years, for which I attempted to give some reasonable backstory. Anyone who gets the joke inherent in Helvering’s name is as huge a nerd as I am, and can likely deduce my day job.  
The series finale of the show is a tragedy. I don’t just mean it’s sad that the show was cancelled, or that the third season was two episodes short (though those are both melancholy in their own right). I mean it in the literal, this is a Greek tragedy, terrible things are befalling the protagonists we love because the gods hate them and they have a character flaw, way. Veronica is stubborn, headstrong, and refuses to give up – this is both a virtue (that got a lot of good things done) and a failing - and she takes it to unfortunate extremes in the finale. Keith loves Veronica and will do anything for her. He takes this to an unfortunate extreme. The discussion between Veronica and Keith about how much he despises those who break the public trust, and how much the Sheriff’s office means to him, is meant to highlight just how much he gave up to protect his daughter at the end of the show. For a long time I had trouble reconciling the finale with the rest of the show – it seemed to be completely out of character for Keith to break the law and to lose out on the Sheriff’s office because of it. It took me a while to realize that, given the Season 1 finale, it actually is consistent for him. Keith just has his priorities straight, despite the tragic consequences. He loved nothing more than being Sheriff of Balboa County – except one thing. His daughter.  
I wouldn’t be surprised if you see Casey the hairdresser in future Veronica Mars stories. And Veronica did, in fact, straighten her hair for most of Episode 3.09 Spit and Eggs. In the final scene in which Veronica appears in 3.09, her hair is once again curled, as it is after the six week break in Episode 3.10 Show Me the Monkey. So, although it isn’t obvious that she’s changed her hair during the break, it’s plausible.  
Gordon Helvering mentions that the Chamber of Commerce is taking on some of the power historically vested with the Commissioner’s office. This may foreshadow the political dynamic of Neptune’s future.

Non plot related recurring references, and references that only work because this was written after 2007

Paris Hilton is referred to by Debra in Chapter 1. Ms. Hilton made a guest appearance in Veronica Mars’ second episode, and was mentioned by the show a couple of times since.  
Although the Veronica Mars characters do not grok all nerd culture, Mac has shown herself to be an avowed Trekkie, giving the famous Borg line “Resistance is futile” in Ep 3.09 Spit and Eggs. Her Chapter 11 reference to Star Trek : First Contact appeared in-character on this basis.  
The reference to a “cellar door” in Chapter 4 is an oblique reference to both Donnie Darko (previously referred to in Ep 1.16 Betty and Veronica) and J.R.R. Tolkien (multiple references, e.g. the title of Ep 1.06 Return of the Kane). Tolkien of one of the authors credited with believing “cellar door” is the most euphonic phrase in the English language, though likely not the first.  
The reference to unicorns in Chapter 1 was an explicit reference to The Last Unicorn. Although not explicitly The Last Unicorn, there were several unicorn-related references in the show, with a fair amount of plot significance (Ep. 1.01 Pilot – Veronica’s mom leaves her a unicorn music box, Ep. 3.09 Spit & Eggs – Veronica fights off Mercer with a model unicorn, Ep. 2.03 Cheatty, Cheatty, Bang, Bang – Veronica has a unicorn screensaver).  
A number of other references were referred to in the Veronica Mars show to a lesser extent, including Gilmore Girls (Ep 3.15 Papa’s Cabin), Easy Rider (Eps 2.15 The Quick and the Wed, 2.17 Plan B), and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Ep 2.07 Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner)  
As always, there are Star Wars references, which were legion on the show.  
The Ted Danson joke refers to a Woody Harrelson line from Doc Hollywood. Even though this novella takes place in 2007, the joke only works post-2016, when Kristen Bell and Ted Danson costar in The Good Place.   
Modeling Marshall Vesta on Stanley Tucci’s portrayal of Frank Nitti in Road to Perdition is cheating a bit. In reality, I viewed Vesta as an amalgamation of Nitti’s ruthlessness, George Harvey’s (The Lovely Bones) self-centered amorality, and Caesar Flickerman’s (Hunger Games trilogy) easy charisma, along with a physical aspect that somewhat mirrored Keith Mars, though not as explicitly as Callie Beck to Veronica. Obviously, these later roles (as well as Tucci co-starring with Kristen Bell in Burlesque) did not occur until after the conclusion of the Veronica Mars TV show. Unless you can time travel, you’re reading this well after 2007, so these later roles still inform Vesta’s characterization.  
For those who care about such things, the 2006 Colts’ defense allowed the most yards per carry of any team since the NFL merged (that’s really bad), and exemplified the adage that the best defense is a good offense. A few weeks after the events of this book Debra’s beloved Indianapolis Colts won the Super Bowl, their first since moving to Indiana (that’s really good). 

Although not explicit, some other Kindle Worlds books which may relate to this one:

In the TV show, Veronica is pursuing an FBI internship for the summer after the show ends, in addition to at least two encounters with the FBI during the show (Ep. 1.04 Wrath of Con where Veronica sends information on Nigerian Prince scammers to the FBI anti-fraud task force, and Ep. 2.11 Donut Run where Veronica meets Agent Morris). Gordon Helvering alludes to Veronica’s FBI connections in the final chapter of this book, which may or may not also refer to Veronica’s putative forthcoming summer internship with the FBI, as explored in witty detail in Roger Alford’s Kindle Worlds series. This novella is intended to work either way.  
Gordon Helvering’s allusion to Veronica’s FBI connections in the final chapter of this book could also refer to Agent Bevard of Jeff Semonis’ Kindle Worlds short story gem First Day. This novella is intended to work either way.  
As described in the TV show, Veronica has a cordial relationship with Deputy Sacks, who passes information regarding the Hearst Rapists in Chapter 2 of this novella. Some specifics and additional depth to this relationship were explored in Vin DeLoach’s excellent Chekhov’s Gun. This novella is intended to work either way.


	16. Cover Art

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipMH0BJCHNSfPn2ccDFTNplXUJCxN3qdBjs7QUue01nSdMFO4rh2BQGQr4sAdKzTPg?key=LXJkdjcycUNybFR2cXZfUnBKZTNVSVFDYjBhNUZ3&source=ctrlq.org)


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